The Reluctant Uncle
by Mamacita-san
Summary: In which Harry finds a long lost relative at Hogwarts and may soon also acquire a new uncle...who detests him even more than Uncle Vernon does!
1. Home Sweet Home?

CHAPTER 1

Home Sweet (?) Home

On a hot Saturday afternoon in late July a teenage boy drowsed on the grass in the unaccustomed peace of the back garden of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. A passing bit of breeze teased at the untidy black hair, in need of a trim as usual, that flopped over his eyes, causing him to stir and sigh but not wake completely.

The owl landing on his chest was enough to do the trick, however. Jolted abruptly out of his nap, Harry Potter sat bolt upright, unceremoniously dumping the disgruntled barn owl off his chest. It fluttered its wings as it attempted to remain upright, and hooted at him reproachfully. The owl extended one gnarled foot to delicately touch the large parchment envelope it had carried in its beak and which had subsequently fallen to the ground.

"Sorry," Harry said, stroking its feathers in apology. The owl tilted its head in a friendly manner, then took off into the hot, hazy sky and was soon lost to sight beyond the trees and rooftops.

Harry turned the envelope over. As he expected, his name was written there in the trademark green ink of Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Harry had been a student for the past five years. With a feeling of joyful anticipation, he began to open the envelope.

Suddenly he became aware of voices approaching and the sound of the front door slamming. The Dursleys had returned from spending the afternoon at a welcome party for new members of the country club they had recently joined. Harry quickly folded the envelope in half and stuffed it into his pocket, just as his Uncle Vernon Dursley appeared at the garden door.

"What the blazes are you doing lazing about there?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "You won't earn your keep sleeping in the garden."

Uncle Vernon had recently realized that Harry was finally beginning to fill out, as most sixteen-year-olds do, and that here was a serendipitous source of free labor. Harry was, Uncle Vernon felt sure, eating him out of house and home, and owed some sort of recompense for what Uncle Vernon saw as squandering of his own hard-earned resources. Thus, ever since Harry's return from Hogwarts at the beginning of summer he had been kept busy performing every kind of odd job Uncle Vernon could possibly think of—some, it must be admitted, that were not really necessary but gave Uncle Vernon a great sense of satisfaction as he watched Harry laboring—usually whilst ostentatiously enjoying himself nearby, just to rub it in.

Now, sneering unpleasantly, Uncle Vernon began a circuit of the back garden, examining the lawn closely to see if he couldn't find some fault with the trimming job Harry had been ordered to complete.

"Anything wrong?" asked Harry, arms folded across his chest defiantly. Uncle Vernon, alert as always for any sign of impertinence, shot him a squint-eyed look of warning.

"Could have trimmed this more closely, couldn't you? Rather sloppy job," he commented. Harry burned with indignation but held his tongue.

Uncle Vernon peered at the nearest fencepost. "How many coats of paint did you put on?" he barked.

Harry rolled his eyes behind his uncle's back but said in a flat, expressionless voice, "Two." As an afterthought, spurred by Uncle Vernon's gimlet eye that suddenly fixed on him, he added grudgingly, "Sir."

Uncle Vernon harrumphed and stomped back toward the house. "Too hot to stand about in the sun," he muttered as he pushed grumpily past Harry and walked inside. He appeared too wilted to really put much effort into his criticism today.

Harry followed slowly. His cousin Dudley and his Aunt Petunia sat on the living room sofa in front of a rotating floor fan set on the highest speed. Dudley was, strangely, somewhat less obnoxious now than he had been in past years, at least concerning his direct involvement with Harry. Harry had decided that rather than Dudley's temperament having actually improved, he just didn't care enough about torturing Harry to bother most of the time.

Dudley, too, had continued to grow—alarmingly. In his case an increase in circumference was rather more noticeable than any added height. He swaggered about with his friends, his build able to back up any threats he made. Harry felt he was lucky to have been able to fly under Dudley's radar since his return from Hogwarts in early summer.

Aunt Petunia was as proud of her son as ever, bragging about him to anyone who would listen and even those who preferred not to, if they weren't quick enough to avoid her.

"Ah, yes, that's the ticket," Uncle Vernon boomed enthusiastically as he wedged himself onto the sofa between Dudley and Aunt Petunia. Harry hovered in the background, wondering if he could safely escape up to his room to read his letter. But he lingered a moment too long.

"I say! D'you know what we need?" Uncle Vernon clapped a meaty hand on Aunt Petunia's shoulder. She winced as the heat from his sweaty palm penetrated her thin blouse and lessened the pleasant effect of the fan.

"What?" she asked testily.

"Lemonade! Some nice cold lemonade would just hit the spot. Come now—the very thing for a hot afternoon!" He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. Petunia nodded her agreement and edged away from him, turning her face back toward the fan.

Uncle Vernon jerked his head at Harry. "Well? What are you waiting for? The lemonade's not going to make itself," he said. He waited until Harry moved toward the kitchen to turn back to the fan, an expression of smug satisfaction on his fat red face.

Harry walked to the refrigerator and pulled the freezer door open, enjoying the rush of cold air on his face. Uncle Vernon glanced over in time to see this and snapped, "Don't hold the door open. You're letting all the cold out. Get on with it."

Harry sent Uncle Vernon a black look—once his back was turned—and closed the freezer.

"There isn't any lemonade," he reported.

Uncle Vernon threw up his hands in a must-I-do-everything fashion.

"Ever heard of the market?" he retorted. His face was red and sweaty and the vein on his forehead looked as though it could pop at any moment. He shook his head in disgust and reached for his wallet, pulling out a couple of pound notes. He waved them impatiently at Harry, who came over to take the money. Just as his fingertips brushed the bills, Uncle Vernon snatched them away and gave Harry a Look.

"Mind you bring back every penny of my change, do you hear?" he said belligerently, as if Harry were in the habit of cheating him out of his pocket change.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. Uncle Vernon let go of the bills, and Harry only just managed to catch them before they hit the floor. He caught his uncle's eye for a moment and held it steadily, not saying anything. Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and hemmed uncomfortably, possibly recalling that Harry, although dependent upon him for room and board, was nonetheless a fairly strong teenage boy who—perhaps—one might be better off not pushing too far.

Harry walked to the front door. Uncle Vernon nudged Dudley, nodded at Harry, and said under his breath, "Butterfingers." Dudley gave a nasty snigger but was too hot to devote much attention to Harry just then. Uncle Vernon, angry at the setdown he felt Harry had given him, called out as the door was closing.

"Don't forget my change!"

Harry shut the door with more vigor than was strictly necessary. Feeling marginally better, he started down the walk in the direction of the market a mile away. It would have been faster to drive, but he knew Uncle Vernon wouldn't offer to take him, nor was he about to let Harry take driving lessons so he could drive himself.

As he ambled past the small park a couple of blocks from the Dursleys' home, he absently dug his fists into his pockets. Encountering the letter in his right pocket, his steps slowed further and he pulled the letter out. He looked longingly over at the shade beneath the park trees. After a brief moment of indecision he thought, Uncle Vernon be buggered. So what if he was gone a little longer than they expected? He just had to see the letter.

The thought of hearing anything at all from Hogwarts, even the standard start-of-term notification, sent a wave of longing over Harry. He stepped onto the grass and headed for the nearest tree, dropping to the ground beneath it. He sighed heavily with relief at being out of the direct sun. He flipped the envelope over and perused Professor McGonagall's formal, flowing script: Mr Harry Potter, Rear Garden, Number Four, Little Whinging, Surrey. He smiled at this proof that although he might be out of touch with the magical world over the summer, his whereabouts were always known by someone there.

A screech from high above in the tree made him look up. Something white fluttered in the leaves for a moment, then Hedwig, his snowy owl, descended to light on his shoulder. Happy to be out of her cage and away from Harry's bedroom for a change, she pecked affectionately at his ear and eyed the letter.

"Suppose it's the usual, eh, Hedwig?" Harry murmured. He drew out the folded piece of parchment. It read:

_Dear Mr Potter—_

_I hope you have had an enjoyable summer so far. As this will be your sixth year at Hogwarts, your studies will concentrate on the subjects in which you must obtain sufficient NEWTs by your seventh and final year to enable you to pursue the career upon which you have decided. If, as you stated last term, you still intend to pursue a career as an Auror, this year you will study Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration._

_Further, I believe I speak for all of Gryffindor House when I say that I hope you will consider rejoining your house Quidditch team as Seeker. I do assure you that there will be no obstacles whatsoever to your doing so._

The obstacle to which Professor McGonagall alluded was an over-zealous and overly ambitious witch by the name of Dolores Umbridge who had temporarily supplanted Professor Dumbledore as Head of the school the previous year and taken malicious pleasure in foiling any attempt by Harry and his friends to enjoy life. Early in the year she had confiscated his broom and forbidden him to play Quidditch ever again, a restriction which he and his teammates had hoped would someday be lifted. It looked as if Professor McGonagall was telling him this had happened, which was certainly cause for celebration.

Even taking into account his less-than-pleasant life with the Dursleys, Harry reflected, the months of being under the sadistic thumb of Professor Umbridge had without a doubt been the darkest of his life. Her malignant influence had so depressed him that he had given serious consideration to leaving Hogwarts altogether, regardless of his affection for the people who inhabited the magical part of his life. Fortunately, before the end of the year Dumbledore had been restored to his rightful place as headmaster and Professor Umbridge departed the school under mysterious circumstances. Life had returned to normal—as normal as it ever was, at any rate.

Harry read on:

_Do enjoy the rest of the summer, Mr Potter. I recommend you get a good rest now, because you will need to put in some very hard work this year if you hope to progress toward your NEWTs. Term begins on the first of September. I look forward to seeing you then._

_Cordially,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

A second sheet followed containing the list of books and supplies Harry needed for the coming year.

"Ah, Hedwig—you know what this means, don't you?" Harry said, gazing dreamily into the distance. "A trip to Diagon Alley!" He looked forward to it with pleasurable anticipation.

Harry planned to spend the month of August at the Burrow, home of his best friend Ron Weasley, a fellow Hogwarts classmate and member of Gryffindor House. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had grudgingly agreed to allow this, although Uncle Vernon was reluctant to give up his boy-of-all-work a whole month before Harry returned to school. Desperate, and afraid his uncle was about to veto the idea, Harry had appealed to Uncle Vernon's mercenary nature.

"It'd be a whole month you wouldn't be paying for my food," he pointed out casually, trying to sound like it made little difference to him one way or the other. "You wouldn't have to even look at me...for a whole month." Uncle Vernon was clearly torn, but in the end his greed won. He even managed to convince himself that it was his own idea to get rid of his troublesome nephew earlier than planned.

"Though why on earth you'd want to hang about with people like that…" Uncle Vernon said, trailing off in an insinuating fashion. He snorted. "But then, look who I'm talking to. You're a freak just like them, aren't you?" He surveyed Harry through squinty eyes, clearly of the opinion that the situation was so bad, there was simply nothing to be done about it. "Well—good riddance to bad rubbish, I say."

Harry didn't particularly care what his uncle said, as long as he agreed to the visit. He glanced at Aunt Petunia, who was listening to the conversation with her lips pursed and an expression of extreme distaste on her horsey face. Her sister Lily, Harry's mother, had been the only witch in Petunia's family. Petunia and her parents were Muggles, or non-magic folk. Her parents were very proud, when Lily got her letter of invitation to Hogwarts at age eleven, to find they had a witch in the family. Petunia had never developed any magical tendencies whatsoever and had eventually convinced herself that this was a fortunate thing, expressing scorn for the entire magical world and refusing to discuss it or her sister.

Harry said no more for fear Uncle Vernon would think better of it and take back his grudgingly given permission for the visit. The knowledge that his indenture with the Dursleys would be of relatively short duration, added to the prospect of an entire delightful month spent with the Weasleys—who felt far more like family to him than his own—had got him through the worst of the summer. The letter from Hogwarts was a welcome reminder that it was nearly time to re-enter the magical world, which Harry thought of as his real home.

Now, sitting in the park and reading his letter to an attentive Hedwig, Harry sighed.

"Only one more week, girl," he said. "Then we are _so_ out of here." He refolded the letter and got to his feet, immensely cheered by the thought. Harry continued on his way to the market, already mentally packing his trunk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A week later, on August first, Harry suddenly realized he had no idea how he was to get to the Burrow. At King's Cross station, upon returning from Hogwarts in June, Mrs Weasley had firmly assured him that they would see him on August first. But he had not heard from Ron—or Hermione, for that matter—all summer. He wondered anxiously if they had forgotten him.

Upstairs his trunk was packed, Hedwig's cage had been cleaned, and Harry's broomstick was propped next to his bedroom door. But he was starting to have serious doubts about whether he was, in fact, going anywhere at all.

Uncle Vernon looked up from the dining room table, where he sat reading the morning paper, as Harry paced up and down the short hallway.

"Forgotten you, have they?" he said with a nasty smirk. "Not surprising, is it? It's amazing those freaks you call friends can function in the real world at all. Probably been shot out of the sky on those broomsticks of theirs, eh? Ha! Now _that_ would be funny." He chuckled to himself as he flipped the page over.

The thought gave Harry pause. It was unlikely that any witch or wizard worth their salt would be flying in plain sight of thousands of Muggles, in broad daylight. But then...he had uncomfortable memories of a certain enchanted car that he and Ron had, three years previously, flown to school from King's Cross station after being unable to enter Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to board the Hogwarts Express. Mr Weasley's fascination with all things Muggle was well known, and Harry wondered uneasily just what he might be planning as a mode of transport for today.

If, indeed, he was thinking of Harry at all. Harry began to pace again.

Suddenly there was a loud _crack!_ and a flash of green flame in the living room. Uncle Vernon gasped and jumped backward in his chair, nearly upsetting it. Harry raced to the living room. There stood Arthur Weasley himself, just stepping out of the Dursleys' living room fireplace.

"Harry! Good to see you, my boy!" he exclaimed as he stepped out of the hearth, brushing ineffectually at a streak of ash on his cloak. With a broad smile and outstretched hand, he advanced on Uncle Vernon, who stood agape in the doorway.

"My dear Uncle Vernon, how are you?" he boomed cheerfully. When Uncle Vernon merely continued to stare at him, Mr Weasley grasped his hand and pumped it firmly. "Good, good," he said, ignoring Uncle Vernon's lack of response. He looked around him eagerly, fascinated by the trappings of Muggle life and always on the lookout for something new to examine. Harry, recognizing that Uncle Vernon's shock was apt to turn to nastiness at any moment, stepped forward quickly.

"Hello, Mr Weasley," he said. "It's great to see you. I'm all packed—I'll just go and get my things, shall I? From my room?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course," Mr Weasley said absently. He wasn't really paying attention. His eye had been caught by a bright yellow racing car atop the television set which disguised a video cassette rewinder.

"Here, now," he said in delight. "How does this work?"

Uncle Vernon bustled up and snatched the car away from Mr Weasley, glaring at him as he replaced it firmly on the television. Mr Weasley beamed genially. Harry groaned to himself.

"Er, Mr Weasley, sir? Shouldn't we be going?" he asked, grasping Mr Weasley's arm and motioning toward the fireplace.

"Eh? Oh, certainly, certainly. Sorry, Harry. I tend to get carried away with Muggle things. Such a lot of very interesting things," he said wistfully as he continued to look around the living room.

"Yes, well, when we get to the Burrow you can ask me about any you like and I'll explain them to you," Harry promised hastily. "Hadn't we better get my trunk and be off now?"

Mr Weasley shook himself and nodded briskly. "Dear me, yes," he said. "Molly will have my head if I don't get you back straight away. Where did you say your trunk was?" Harry motioned toward the stairs.

"Ah! Of course. Let me see now—_Accio _trunk!" cried Mr Weasley. Harry's trunk appeared round the corner of the upstairs hallway and floated gently over the banister to land at their feet. Mr Weasley winked. "Maybe underage wizards can't do magic outside of school, Harry, but I can!" He fetched Hedwig's cage and Harry's broom downstairs in similar fashion, then held out a small box to Harry.

"Floo powder," he said. "You first, Harry. I'll follow with your things. Remember to speak clearly, now."

Harry gingerly stepped into the fireplace, a pinch of Floo powder in his fingers. He looked at Uncle Vernon, who was watching the proceedings and shaking his head slowly, fascinated in spite of himself.

"Goodbye, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quietly. Uncle Vernon merely grunted.

Harry took a deep breath, threw down the Floo powder, and cried, "The Burrow!" Heatless green flames rose around him, obscuring the Dursleys' living room and Mr Weasley. Harry felt a sharp jerk and began to spin. Before he had time to feel dizzy the flames had died down again and he was looking out of the fireplace at the Burrow into Ron's grinning face.

"About time you got here, mate," said Ron. "Buck up! Hermione's here and there's tons doing!" He grabbed Harry's arm and hurried him out into the bright sunlight of the Weasleys' garden.


	2. A Surprise at the Burrow

CHAPTER 2

A Surprise at the Burrow

From the moment of his arrival at the Burrow, the tenor of Harry's summer took a sharp upward swing. Ron rushed him outdoors as soon as he arrived.

"What's the hurry, Ron?" Harry panted, laughing. They arrived at the far end of the path and Harry stopped laughing in a hurry.

Ginny lounged on the grass against a large boulder, and Fred and George sat nearby, each trying to out-juggle the other with a motley collection of objects. A girl with long chestnut hair hanging in gentle waves nearly to the ground sat with her back to Ron and Harry. He wondered who it was, and then she turned and her laugh pealed out over the garden as she stood and ran to greet him.

"Harry! How super to see you--I thought you'd never get here!" she cried.

"Hermione?" Harry couldn't believe this was the same girl he'd bidden goodbye at the station a mere two months ago. When had Hermione gotten so tall? And her hair--had it grown so much in only a couple of months? And her--well--the rest of her suddenly seemed so much more..._noticeable_...in her very short shorts and tube top. Harry gulped.

"Yeah, it's great to see you, too," he said bemusedly. He couldn't seem to stop staring. He'd never really imagined Hermione in so little clothing before, as a certain amount of decorum was required of students at Hogwarts even at the end of the spring term, when it could be quite warm. Harry was suddenly filled with appreciation for the heat of the summer day, and regret that all of--_that_--would all too soon be obscured once more beneath a school uniform and robe. He sighed.

Ginny and Ron exchanged an amused glance. Hermione appeared not to notice.

"Uh, Harry?" Ron said. Harry looked at him and blinked.

"What?"

Ginny laughed. "We were just about to go for a swim, Harry. Why don't you borrow a pair of Ron's trunks and come with us?"

"Oh, do, Harry," Hermione seconded. "It'll be loads of fun."

"Come on," said Ron, leading the way to the house. "I'll show you where to change." He and Harry jogged back to the house.

"So--what took you so long getting here, mate?" Ron asked. Harry looked at him quizzically.

"Well, I didn't know how I was going to get here," he said. "Actually, I kind of wondered if…" He stopped, glancing at Ron hesitantly.

"If what?" Ron asked.

"Well, you know--if maybe I'd misunderstood and I wasn't really supposed to--I mean, if your mother was just being kind, or..." He trailed off, too embarrassed to complete his thought out loud. Ron had no such compunctions.

"You mean you thought we might not really want you to come?" he said bluntly.

"Well, yes," Harry admitted. Ron punched him in the arm.

"Silly git," he teased. "Summer wouldn't be the same without you, Harry." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Hey--what d'you think of Hermione, eh?" He nodded as Harry shook his head and whistled. "Yeah, I know. Really something, isn't she?" He added hastily, "But don't tell her I said so." He put a hand on Harry's arm. "Will you, Harry? Because I haven't--so far we're not--well, you know."

Harry looked at Ron more closely, alerted by something in his tone. The anxiety on his friend's face made him smile to himself.

Harry said, "She won't hear it from me."

"Good," said Ron, relieved. "That's all right, then." He sauntered off extra-casually toward the house, and a bemused Harry followed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry wandered downstairs on the last day of August, wondering where everyone was. He had apparently slept quite late; no one was about upstairs, although he smelled breakfast cooking. Mrs Weasley popped her head round the bottom of the stairwell.

"Harry! There you are, dear," she said brightly. "Have a good sleep, did you? Would you like some breakfast? Ron and the others are out de-gnoming the garden, but there's no need for you to go off hungry. Come on, now. Come sit down." She bustled him in to the table where Mr Weasley sat drinking a cup of tea and reading the _Daily Prophet_. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Ah, Harry. Good morning. Do sit down," he said expansively. "Do you know, I was thinking I might just ask you a question or two about a few of the, er, interesting-looking items I happened to spot in your uncle's home. What do you say to that, eh?" He beamed genially at Harry.

"Now, Arthur," scolded Mrs Weasley. "Let him get some food in him before you start the inquisition, _if_ you please."

"That's okay," Harry said. "I don't mind. What do you want to know?"

"Oh. Ah. Let me see--what first, what first?" Mr Weasley muttered, tapping one long, thin finger against his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes." He leaned toward Harry, eyes gleaming.

"That lovely little yellow automobile your uncle had atop his--his--fellyvision? Vellytision? The boxy wotsit in the parlor, you know." He looked at Harry expectantly.

"Television?" Harry prompted.

"Television! Exactly so. Now I am very curious as to why your uncle should shrink his car to such a very small size, and why he keeps it in his parlor. It seems a rather odd practice to me, but I imagine there is some special Muggle reasoning behind it all, eh?" He picked up his teacup and took a large, enthusiastic gulp, gazing expectantly at Harry.

"Oh--no," Harry explained. "It's not a real car, you see. It's a machine that rewinds your video tapes." At Mr Weasley's blank look he went on. "You pop in a video cassette that you've already watched, and the car rewinds the tape to the beginning."

Mr Weasley gasped in delight. "Rewinds? Video tapes? Oh--wait--wait a minute, Harry." He patted his pockets in search of paper, mumbling, "Answer one question and six pop up in its place, don't you know." The pocket search having proved fruitless, he looked about helplessly.

"Molly!" he called. "Drat. Now where did I..." He leaped to his feet and bounded off in search of note-taking materials.

"Pssst!"

Harry looked round but didn't see anyone.

"Psssssst! Harry, over here!" Ginny whispered urgently from the back door. She waved him over.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Now's your chance to escape! Come on, Harry." Ginny tugged at his sleeve and he followed her out the door, looking back over his shoulder guiltily.

"But--breakfast--your dad--" he began. Ginny shushed him. Peering in at the door, she ran back to the table and snatched up a piece of toast, folded it around an egg, and stuffed it into Harry's hand on her way back out.

"Come _on_," she hissed. After they had gotten safely out of sight of the door, she slowed down.

"Sorry, Harry. You must think I've gone mental," she grinned. "It's just that I know Dad, and once he gets started you'll be lucky to get out of there before your hair turns gray." She knuckled his hair affectionately. "Come on. It's our last day of freedom! Let's do something. Want to go down to the creek? We could try a spot of fishing or something."

Harry stopped, listening.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked.

"Just wondering where everyone is," he replied. "It's so quiet this morning."

"That's easy," Ginny said. "Fred and George have already left for Diagon Alley." The twins had left school early the previous year, barely making it out the door before Professor Umbridge could expel them after they played a particularly messy joke on her. They had finally realized their long-awaited dream of opening up a magical joke shop. In the short time since then their reputation had grown and they showed fair promise of someday rivaling the famous Zonko's Joke Shop in Hogsmeade, the magical village near Hogwarts where third-year and older students were allowed to visit on occasional weekends to spend their pocket money on candy, jokes, butterbeer, and the like.

"Percy…well," she sighed, "Percy's still not speaking to Mum and Dad. Of course by now he knows what a stupid prat he's been, and I think he's too embarrassed to come home and face them. Mind you," she said with a wince, "he really should. They'd be happy to see him no matter what--Mum misses him something awful. But Percy always was too proud for his own good." No question there, Harry thought.

"Where's Ron?" he asked. "And Hermione?"

Ginny smirked. "Oh, they're around," she said. "Probably off somewhere having a Private Talk or something. They're absolutely besotted with each other, you know." She moved on into the paths among the flowerbeds, not immediately noticing that Harry wasn't following. She looked back. He stood staring at her, a strange look on his face.

"Besotted?" he said with a grin. "Ron and Hermione? Ron...and Hermione," he repeated, seeming to consider their paired names in a new light.

"When did all this happen?" he asked, hurrying to catch Ginny up, fascinated by this glimpse into his friend's love life. Love life? Who knew Ron even _had_ a love life? Or that when it finally happened, it should involve Hermione?

"Oh, ages ago," Ginny said airily. "Ron's always had rather a thing for Hermione, you know."

"No," said Harry reflectively. "I didn't know."

Ginny looked at him warily. "Oh--I say, Harry, have I said anything I oughtn't?" she asked in a rush. "I mean, were you--did you--" She broke off, unsure what to say. Harry realized her dilemma.

"Oh! No," he assured her. "It's nothing like that. I've never thought of Hermione as anything but a friend." Ginny blew her breath out in a relieved sigh. Harry had a sudden thought.

"But what about Viktor?" he asked. Ginny met his look with a blank stare.

"Viktor?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know, Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian Quidditch player. Hermione seemed quite taken with him, and I thought they'd been keeping in touch," Harry said. Ginny snorted.

"Oh, _that_. Honestly, Harry. They're just friends. She doesn't care for him like _that_." Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry felt a bit foolish.

"Oh. Well, I just wondered," he said defensively. "I wouldn't want Ron to get hurt. You know, Hermione being his first crush and all."

Ginny laughed. "Don't worry, _Dad_," she teased. "Ickle Ronnikins is just fine." She looked at him consideringly. "What about you, Harry?"

"What do you mean, what about me?" Harry ducked his head, not particularly liking the sound of where the conversation was heading. He ambled under a weeping willow, heading for the creek he could hear nearby.

"Oh, come on, Harry. Isn't there anyone who's caught your eye?" Ginny persisted. "It didn't really seem like Cho was your cup of tea, but there must be someone you like." She trotted along behind him, impatiently batting willow fronds out of the way.

"I don't know," Harry said, finally. "I guess there's no one in particular." He looked at her suspiciously. "Why--what have you heard?"

"Nothing," Ginny said seriously, "but if I do I'll let you know, shall I?" She twirled ahead of him, giggling, and ran to the edge of the creek. She stopped abruptly and backed up, bumping into Harry. She grabbed him by the arm and tugged him backward, doubled over with silent laughter.

"Come on!" she whispered urgently. "Let's go back!"

"What? Why?" Harry asked. Ginny shook her head, finger to her lips, and pointed across the creek. Then she disappeared silently back the way they had come. Harry looked to where she had pointed and his jaw dropped.

On the creek bank Ron and Hermione stood wrapped in each other's arms, engaged in what appeared to be a very serious kiss.

Harry gaped for a moment and then grinned widely. As quietly as possible he backtracked up the path, leaving them to it.


	3. A New Face at the Staff Table

CHAPTER 3

A New Face at the Staff Table

The chaos that might reasonably be expected to occur during a trip to King's Cross with the Weasley crowd was behind them and after a long day of traveling the Hogwarts students had finally arrived.

In the Gryffindor sixth-year boys' dormitory, Harry listened as Ron, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnegan swapped stories about their summers. Harry noticed that Ron's account contained no mention of Hermione. Earlier that day on the train he'd watched the two of them with the eyes of one newly enlightened, but their manner toward each other had been the same as always--Hermione scornful of Ron's inept spell-casting, and Ron twitting her in turn about her bookishness. Harry wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't that everything would be the same as usual.

"Coming, Harry?" called Neville on his way out the door. Harry broke out of his brown study and noticed that everyone else had gone. "Dinner!" said Neville. "You know--food? Come on, we'll be late. I don't want to miss the Sorting."

"Right. Just coming." Harry looked around for his robe and spied it under Ron's bed. He grabbed it on the way out the door and stuffed his arms into the sleeves, clattering down the stairs in Neville's wake. They ducked out of the portrait-hole entrance to Gryffindor common room and raced along the corridor, catching up to their friends just in time to enter the Great Hall together. The ceiling, enchanted to look like the sky outside, was like black velvet studded with thousands of stars--for once, an arrival evening without rain.

As they seated themselves at the Gryffindor table, Harry looked up at the head table where the faculty sat. Hagrid caught his eye and winked, and Dumbledore smiled and nodded. Madam Pomfrey was engaged in conversation with Professor Sprout, and Snape, the sarcastic Potions master, had a pained expression on his face as the lovely, dark-haired young lady sitting next to him, with a jaunty feather in her hat, spoke earnestly to him. Harry wondered who she was and why Snape seemed to dislike her so much--other than the fact that disdain, or worse, was his usual response to all but a favored few.

Dumbledore rose and clapped his hands. "If I might have your attention, please," he said. The room quieted.

"The Sorting will begin in a moment," he continued. "But first I should like to make a few announcements. As you are aware, the captains of two of our house Quidditch teams--Marcus Flynt of Slytherin and Oliver Wood of Gryffindor--have graduated and departed these august halls for new endeavours." He cleared his throat. "I have made inquiries over the summer and am pleased to announce that a majority of the Slytherin and Gryffindor team members have indicated that they would be pleased to support the promotions of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter as captains of their respective house teams."

This announcement was met with riotous cheering by all four houses. The rivalry between Harry and Malfoy was of long standing, and it seemed fitting that they should captain the two Quidditch teams who also shared the most intense ongoing competition.

Harry, however, was stunned. His teammates gave him thumbs-up and punched their fists in the air, elated. Ron thumped him on the back. "We'll finally be teammates, Harry. It's great!" Ron spoke cheerfully, but in truth he was rather anxious about his present status on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He had become the team's Keeper the previous year, and his record was less than exemplary; in fact, he'd defended the goals so poorly that the Slytherins had cheered him on as their ticket to a sure win. Over the summer Ron had coaxed Fred and George to give him as much practice as they could, and he actually was shaping up to be a fair Keeper. He was rather anxious about the outcome of the team's first practice and desperately hoped the team would give him a chance and not dismiss him out of hand.

Meanwhile, Malfoy basked in the recognition of his house and teammates. He took a moment to sneer in Harry's direction--acknowledgement of a sort, Harry supposed.

Dumbledore held up his hands for quiet once more.

"As I'm certain you have noticed, this year there is a new face at the staff table." Dumbledore indicated the young woman seated next to Snape. "Allow me to present Professor Trillium Lovejoy, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced. "Professor Lovejoy has worked for the Ministry of Magic as an Auror since her own departure from Hogwarts, but she has graciously consented to teach for us this year."

"Snape looks thrilled," Ron snickered. "Guess he missed out again, eh?" It was an open secret that Snape fervently desired the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor but had so far been unsuccessful in obtaining it.

Dumbledore spoke to Professor McGonagall, who stood at the entrance to the Great Hall. "You may bring them in now."

Professor McGonagall nodded and entered the hall briskly, scroll of parchment in her hand.

"This way," she said over her shoulder to the group of first-years trailing behind her. They proceeded to the front of the hall, where the Sorting Hat sat atop its stool on a low platform before the faculty table.

Professor McGonagall halted in front of the platform and turned to face the first-year students. The expressions on their faces ranged from excitement to terror to smug superiority. None looked bored.

"When I call your name," she said sternly, "you will come forward and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head. You will then be sorted into your Houses." She unfurled the parchment and began calling names. Each time the Sorting Hat made its pronouncement, one or other of the tables broke into cheers, welcoming their newest member.

Under cover of the ensuing bursts of applause, Harry stole a glance at Hermione. He noticed she was sitting close to Ron. Quite close. In fact, if he was not mistaken, Ron's leg was practically glued to Hermione's. Suddenly her leg abruptly moved away. Harry glanced up to find Hermione looking at him defiantly, cheeks pink, chin poked out stiffly. He grinned. Ron, belatedly aware that something was going on, slewed round to see what Hermione was looking at and caught Harry's gleeful expression, whereupon he too reddened and immediately found something fascinating to look at on his plate. Which was interesting, when you thought about it, seeing as the food had not yet appeared.

"Oo-er," said Seamus appreciatively. He sat across from Harry and gazed at Professor Lovejoy with slack-jawed admiration. "Defense Against the Dark Arts just became my favorite class," he declared.

Harry chuckled. "Yeah. Too bad we can't say the same about Potions." He glanced over to where Snape appeared to be fending off an animated Professor Lovejoy. As Harry watched, she pressed Snape's hand while making an especially earnest point. Snape gazed at her hand with an expression of revulsion, which remained even after she, oblivious to his dismay, removed it.

"D'you think she fancies him?" Ron asked, having at last started paying attention to the goings-on around him. The Sorting finished, dinner had appeared on the tables, so, unable to wait any longer, he had been busily occupied in making selections for his plate.

Harry was appalled. "What--Snape? You must be joking." As the others made similar comments, Harry added under his breath so only Ron could hear, "Not _everyone_ has love on the brain, you know." Ron started and looked at Harry guiltily.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he hedged, knowing denial was probably futile.

Harry waggled his eyebrows comically. "Let's just say when you and Hermione were having a...moment...by the creek yesterday, you weren't as alone as you thought you were."

"Oh." Ron's face closely resembled a radish now. "I see. Er--well--so now you know, I guess." He glanced at Hermione. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked apologetically.

"Mind? Why would I mind?" Harry asked. "I think it's great. I had a feeling the two of you would end up together someday, you know."

Ron stared. "Really? Wow. Not me. She used to drive me crazy. And then--suddenly she just didn't." He shrugged. "I dunno how it happened, Harry. One minute we were arguing--I don't even remember what about--and the next minute it was like we'd both been hit over the head. She's bloody marvelous, Hermione is. Can't think why it took me so long to see it."

"Well," added Neville, who had just caught the last part of the conversation, "think how perfect it'll be--her with Muggle parents, and your dad who can't get enough of Muggles. They'll never run out of things to talk about at family gatherings!"

Ron looked a bit taken aback at this long view of things. "I say," he began, "that may be looking just a bit far ahead, don't you think?" He looked at Harry for support. "I mean, we've only just gotten…" He broke off in confusion as he noticed that several more pairs of ears had tuned in to the conversation.

Hermione's, however, were not among them. So when she turned just then to say something to Ron, she was faced with several hastily assumed, too-innocent looks.

"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, unpleasantly suspicious that she must be the butt of a joke she'd missed.

"Nothing," Ron said hastily. "Well, it's just…actually, they, er…they know."

"They know?" Hermione repeated. "Know what?" Ron gulped and tried on a sickly attempt at a smile.

Ginny took pity on him and whispered in Hermione's ear.

"Oh!" she said, as understanding dawned. A small smile played about her lips. "Oh." The smile got bigger. "Well, yes, I--"

Once more Dumbledore spoke over the babble of voices. "If I might?" he interrupted. "Sixth-year students will please remain in the Great Hall tomorrow morning after breakfast for discussion of your NEWT preparation with your faculty advisors. That is everything, I think. I'm pleased to have you all here. Have a pleasant evening."

The students departed the Great Hall in small groups, gossiping and speculating about the classes they had this term.

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with talk of Quidditch. When Harry entered with Ron and Hermione, a cheer went up.

"Let's hear it for our new captain!" yelled Katie Bell. "Harry, congratulations! What will you do about tryouts?" she asked.

"Tryouts? Er, I hadn't really thought about it," Harry replied.

"Well, you'd better. We've got four vacant positions on our team this year: Keeper, both Beaters, and a Chaser." She named the positions formerly held by Ron, Fred and George Weasley, and Angelina Johnson.

Ron cleared his throat hesitantly. "I was, er, rather hoping I could stay on in the Keeper's position this year," he said hopefully. The others, remembering what a disaster he had been on the pitch the previous year, exchanged dismayed looks. Harry, torn between his loyalty to Ron and his desire to have a top-notch Quidditch team, spoke up.

"I say we give Ron a chance. At least let him try out. He's put in some pretty intense training with Fred and George this summer. Let's see what he can do before we make any decisions."

Ginny spoke up. "I think that's fair," she said. "As for me--Harry, it was fun being Seeker last year, but I only did it because Umbridge wouldn't let you play. To tell you the truth, I'd rather try out for Chaser. So I hope you're planning to take over as Seeker again." The rest of the common room appeared to feel the same way; there were scattered calls of "Attaboy, Harry" and "Come on, Harry, we need you." Harry stood.

"Thanks, everyone," he said. "If you're sure you want me, I'd be honored to continue as Seeker. Now, about tryouts. How about Saturday morning at ten? I'll check with Madam Hooch and make sure we can get the pitch then. If anybody's interested in trying out, this is your chance."

Colin Creevey whispered something to Harry, who nodded.

"Colin's just brought up something I think we should consider," said Harry. "It's not traditional for first-years to be on house Quidditch teams--" disappointed groans-- "but I don't think there's any actual rule against it, either." Cheers and whistles from the first-years. "So I propose that tryouts should include any interested first-years as well."

"Thank you, Harry," Colin said quietly under cover of the renewed buzzing at this unheard-of turn of events.

"Sure, Colin. Is your sister interested in Quidditch or something?" Harry asked. Colin's younger sister, Nancy, was a first-year in Gryffindor.

"No," Colin said. "I just thought it might be time for a change, and I knew if anyone would go for a new way of doing things it'd be you, Harry." Colin had been something of a hero-worshipper with Harry since he began at Hogwarts in Harry's second year. Apparently he was still one of Harry's biggest fans.

People began drifting off to bed then, until finally the common room was deserted except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry pried himself out of his armchair and laughed as he surveyed the decorous distance Ron and Hermione had put between them, one on either side of the fire.

"Well, I'm off to bed," he said with a huge yawn. "You coming, Ron?" He deliberately dragged out his departure, fussing with the chair cushions, poking at the fire with the tongs, and finally draping his arms over the back of Hermione's chair.

"Sure. Er--in a minute," Ron began, then noticed the twinkle in Harry's eye. "Shove off, Harry. I'll be along soon."

"All right." Harry relented and started up the stairs to the gallery door. "Nighty-night, you two," he said, and sketched a low bow. Ron threw a cushion at him and Harry dodged it, laughing, as the door closed behind him.

Ron stood also and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Well, I guess that's it for today," he said nervously. "Time to turn in, then, eh?" He took a step in Hermione's direction and then hovered uncertainly.

Hermione stretched. "Night, Ron," she said sweetly. She marched over to him and planted a smacking kiss right on his mouth. While he was recovering from his surprise--and, it must be said, from his disappointed hopes for a more extended romantic ending to the evening--Hermione ran lightly up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. With a last laughing glance and a wave, she was gone.

Ron shook his head, sighed heavily, and trudged up to bed.


	4. First Day of Classes

CHAPTER 4

First Day of Classes

The first day of classes started off with a bang.

A thunderstorm, to be precise.

At breakfast, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall faithfully reproduced the leaden skies outside the castle. The buzz of conversation carried on, punctuated by sporadic flashes of lightning and peals of thunder. The storm sounded like it was centered directly over the castle. Harry reflected that candlelight really did have its merits. He sighed. It was hard enough getting up in the morning, he felt, without the weather itself conspiring to make you want to linger in bed, bundled up to the ears in warm blankets.

Breakfast itself was uneventful. The morning owl-post was light, since none but the most clinging parents had had time to miss their offspring after only a single day's absence.

Just before the meal ended, Professor Dumbledore rose and waited for the voices to slowly die away.

"Good morning to you all," he said. "I should like to remind all sixth-year students to remain in the Great Hall for discussion of your NEWT studies. The rest of you may go to your scheduled classes."

The Great Hall emptied rapidly, with the exception of forty sixth-year students and a handful of faculty, including Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall motioned to the students to gather at the front of the room. She waved her wand at the tables and said, "_Reducio_!" All but four of the tables disappeared. Professor McGonagall stowed her wand in a pocket of her robe.

"Most of you," she said, "have decided on a particular career or area in which you wish to pursue further, specialized knowledge. Your faculty advisor for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts will be determined by your particular area of interest, but--" she fixed them with a stern eye-- "you must demonstrate proficiency in several different subjects in order to obtain your NEWTs at the end of your seventh and final year."

She turned to the other teachers. "If you please?" Professors Snape, Lovejoy, and Flitwick each went to stand at separate tables. Madam Pomfrey joined Snape at his table. Hermione's eyebrows rose with curiosity. Professor McGonagall resumed.

"You will report to the table that represents your particular area of study. If you have not yet decided where your interest lies, remain where you are for the present. Now, those of you who have an interest in hexes, incantations, and charms, please join Professor Flitwick." The diminutive teacher beamed as several students made their way to his table.

"Everyone interested in Potions or Healing should report to Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey." Several more students, including Hermione and Malfoy, chose to do so.

"Those of you with an interest in furthering your working knowledge of Transfiguration will be under my supervision; kindly come to this table," said Professor McGonagall, with a regal wave toward the table in front of her. About half the remaining students joined her there.

"Everyone wishing to pursue a career as an Auror," she continued, "will please report to Professor Lovejoy." The Auror group was comprised of Harry, Ron, Neville, Ernie McMillan, Susan Bones, and Parvati and Padma Patil.

A handful of students remained unsorted, Crabbe and Goyle among them. Seeing this, Malfoy rolled his eyes in disgust, then ostentatiously turned his back on them. His two erstwhile henchmen huddled together uncomfortably, no longer certain of their status in the face of this unexpected development.

Ron nudged Harry. "Probably wondering where the future Death Eaters are supposed to report, eh?" he sniggered.

Professor McGonagall surveyed the groups for a moment. Then she addressed the undecided students.

"Those of you who have not yet chosen an area of specialization will return to your house common rooms for now. However," she continued in a raised voice as Crabbe and Goyle edged toward the door, "all of you will report to your Heads of House at four o'clock this afternoon to discuss this matter further." She looked at them over the top of her spectacles.

"The very fact that you have made it as far as your sixth year indicates that you have the potential to make something of yourselves," she said. "Pray do not squander this opportunity due to mere indecision. I strongly suggest you spend your day giving serious thought to your futures." The undecided few shuffled off to their classes with guilty backward glances.

Professor McGonagall addressed the remaining students.

"You will now go with your teachers to your respective classrooms, where you will discuss the requirements for your particular courses of study," she said briskly. "Although you will partake in a variety of subjects as part of your chosen fields, your new groups' faculty advisors will guide your overall progress through the completion of your NEWTs. Good luck to you all."

The professors shepherded their students out of the Great Hall. Professor Lovejoy smiled warmly at her assembly of would-be Aurors.

"Well!" she said brightly. "We are a small group--but a select one, I have no doubt. Let us proceed!" She led the way out of the Great Hall and up the main staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When they entered, Harry was relieved to see that all traces of the previous occupant, Professor Umbridge, were gone--no sign of anything pink, no slightest scrap of lace doily remained. Instead, several large posters had been hung on the walls, each displaying a different kind of dangerous magical being and recommendations for how to handle it. Among them Harry noted vampires, werewolves, and boggarts--with the last two of which he had gained rather more experience in his third year than he'd really wanted.

Professor Lovejoy followed the students into the room and shut the door firmly. She strode briskly to the front of the room and turned to face them, leaning against the front of her desk.

"Hmm, it is rather dark in here," she said. Although the windows in the classroom were quite tall, only a halfhearted kind of watery light entered due to the ongoing storm outside. Taking her wand from a pocket of her voluminous robes, she flicked it at each of the six candle-filled chandeliers that marched the length of the ceiling. Instantly a warm yellow glow emanated from them, dissipating the gloom and making even the cavernous classroom feel cozy.

"Much better," said Professor Lovejoy. "There will be enough talk of Dark doings in this room as it is; we might as well have as much light as possible! Now then. I'm interested to see that so few people have chosen to become Aurors. I should like to find out just why you lot did so. Let's take a moment so that each of you can tell us your reasons for wanting to be an Auror; it will help me learn a bit more about you, as well as perhaps helping you to clarify in your own minds the reasons for your wishing to tread this difficult and perilous path."

She pointed at Susan. "Susan Bones, will you go first?"

Susan colored slightly upon finding herself the focus of everyone's attention. "Er, my auntie works for the Ministry of Magic and she's told me about some of the things Aurors do," she said. "I think it's fantastic that they're out there all the time, working to keep us safe and everything. And not just us, but Muggles too. My auntie is always saying there are never enough Aurors, and they're pretty important to have around, so I feel kind of like it's my--well, my duty to volunteer." She stumbled to a stop, then added, "I was thinking I might like to be a Healer, but I thought if there were more Aurors, perhaps we'd need fewer Healers."

Professor Lovejoy laughed. "You do have a point, Susan. Thank you. Ernie McMillan?"

Ernie got to his feet. He had grown and seemed to have developed more of a presence over the summer. He aimed his steady gaze at his classmates. "A lot of my friends are either Muggles or part-Muggle. I think they'd be the first to suffer if someone like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were to gain too much power. I felt the best way to help them, and us too, was to become an Auror."

Professor Lovejoy clapped her hands. "Well put, Mr McMillan. Selflessness and loyalty--worthwhile qualities indeed." She looked around. "Neville Longbottom?"

Neville got to his feet. He raised his eyes to look directly at Professor Lovejoy. His voice was low and shook a little as he said, "My mum and da were tortured by the Dark Lord until they went mad. He used the Cruciatus curse on them. They're in the Mental Maladies ward of St. Mungo's, probably for the rest of their lives." His fists clenched, and he said fiercely, "I want him dead."

His friends stared with surprise at the usually diffident Neville. This cold implacability was a side of him they had never seen.

Without waiting to be called on, Harry rose and put a hand on Neville's shoulder.

"I want Voldemort dead, too," he stated baldly. "Him and his Death-Eaters, and any more like them."

Silently, Parvati, Padma, and Ron rose to their feet as well.

"I think we all feel the same way," Ron said. "You-Know-Who--sorry, Harry, I still can't quite bring myself to say his name--has hurt people we know and will keep on unless--no, _until_ he's stopped. We can't live our lives just waiting for someone else to stop him. We all know that Harry's life is at stake, that either he or You-Know-Who has to die, and Dumbledore believes the prophecy is true. Well, I for one am not willing to sit and wait for the Dark Lord to come calling. When he does, I want to be ready to do anything I can to help Harry beat him. And frankly," he finished, "the thought of all those Death-Eaters on the loose gives me the creeps anyway." The other students giggled, breaking the tension a little.

Ron looked at Professor Lovejoy, an apprehensive look on his freckled face. "Do you think it will ever really be over?" he asked. She looked at them gravely.

"It's difficult to say, Ron. Scattered as they have been without the Dark Lord to guide them until recently, the Death Eaters may be a bit unorganized perhaps, but they all are certainly capable of enough evil deeds to make them considerably dangerous even on their own. And it doesn't stop with them, you know." She turned to the nearest poster.

"There are many forms of evil in the world, just waiting to pounce on the unwary." She indicated a poster depicting a mountain troll. "Some, like these, are fairly mindless killing machines. They simply go and go until they are stopped. But many are more devious, more cunning, and well able to think for themselves. You must remember, however that this doesn't necessarily make them any more dangerous; it just changes the approach one must take in order to successfully combat them."

Professor Lovejoy cleared her throat. "My next question may seem...unnecessary, especially since you are all here by choice. But I don't know how many of you have actually thought about this in so many words. You've explained why you have chosen to become Aurors. Now I'd like to hear just what you think an Auror is." She smiled encouragingly. "If there are any gross misapprehensions about what this job involves, we'd best address them before you get in too deep." Her eyes roamed over the small group. "Who would like to go first?"

Parvati raised her hand and stood, bashfully facing the class. In a voice that was barely audible, she said, "The Aurors are like a magical police force. They find out who is doing Dark magic and arrest them."

Her twin sister, Padma, stood as well. "Yes--they are magical law enforcers," she said.

Professor Lovejoy tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Aurors are constantly on the watch for Dark magic, it's true," she said, "but it's not that simple. The Ministry does have the Improper Use of Magic office to deal with general abuse of magical powers, you know. So Aurors are not precisely policemen." Padma and Parvati sat down, looking slightly chagrined. Harry waved his hand in the air, and Professor Lovejoy motioned for him to speak. He stood.

"I think it's more specific than just looking for Dark magic," he said. "Aurors do that, but I think their main purpose is to destroy Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Although as for Voldemort himself..." His voice trailed off as he thought of the prophecy. "I don't know if the Aurors will be able to do anything about him. Not to sound conceited or anything," he said apologetically," but I rather think maybe...I might have to do that myself."

Professor Lovejoy said, "Actually, Aurors have existed since long before the Dark Lord's time. It's entirely true that one of their main tasks these days is, as you say, Harry, to maintain a watch over him and his followers and prevent their evil deeds as far as possible. And on the rare occasions when the identity of a Death Eater is found out, the Ministry of course tries to act on that information immediately and take them out of circulation." She looked at Harry, compassion in her eyes. "I don't know what is destined to happen between you and the Dark Lord, Harry. You may be right. No matter how much planning is done and how many leads the Aurors get, it may be that they will somehow be prevented from coming to your assistance, leaving you to face him on your own."

"However," she continued, "Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, we must always strive to remember that evil comes in many forms--" she indicated the posters around the room-- "and Aurors must learn how to deal with them all." She strode to the blackboard and, with a wave of her wand, the word AUROR appeared. She turned to the class.

"Can anyone tell me the origin of this word?" she asked. No one leaped to answer, but after a moment of silence Neville rose.

"Does it come from _aura_?" he asked hopefully.

Professor Lovejoy nodded. "That's a good guess. The word 'Auror' is believed to have its roots either in the word _aurora_, meaning light, or _aurum_, meaning gold. In a way they both refer to the same thing: light, brightness, shining. In short, an Auror's job is to bring Light into the Dark--to expose the evil hidden there and root it out." She smiled sympathetically at the students, who looked somewhat overwhelmed by this grandiose-sounding goal. "Cheer up, you lot," she said, laughing. "We don't have to do it all in one day!"

She went to the row of cupboards beneath the windows and, opening one, peered inside. "Ah, here we are. Ron and...let me see...Susan, will you please distribute these books among the class?" She held up a copy of _Mischief or Maleficence: When Should an Auror Intervene?_ "This is not your main textbook for the year, but it does have some helpful ideas about how Aurors determine whether to get involved in a given situation." Ron and Susan thumped a copy of the book down on each person's desk and returned to their seats. Everyone had opened their books and was leafing through the pages at random.

Professor Lovejoy said, "As you are aware, you will be continuing your studies in several areas for these next two years. As Professor McGonagall said, I will be your main faculty advisor from now until your graduation in two years. Defense Against the Dark Arts will be a major part of your studies, of course. However, you will also be expected to continue your work in Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions."

Harry and Ron groaned. They weren't looking forward to two more years of study under Snape, especially since a good portion of their NEWTs depended on their performance in his class.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape, it must be said, shared their lack of enthusiasm.

After lunch the Auror group reported to the dungeon classroom where Snape taught Potions. After this first, introductory day with just their own group, they would meet for Potions classes in combination with the Potions and Healing NEWT students on alternate days.

No one wanted to be up front under Snape's scrutiny, so there was a certain amount of jostling involved in determining seating arrangements. When it became obvious that all seven students were sitting as far at the back as possible, Susan, Ernie, and Neville--with martyred sighs--moved slightly closer to the front.

No sooner had they reseated themselves than Snape exploded into the classroom in a whirl of robes, his swift passage to the front of the room blowing more than one roll of parchment onto the floor. Although his usual furious mode of entry never failed to strike terror into the hearts of students for the first year and sometimes even longer, for the most part the sixth-years had grown accustomed to it. It probably didn't bode well for his mood, but that was not unusual either.

Snape reached the podium and turned to face the class, his usual sour expression in place. He surveyed the group with distaste, then rolled his eyes when he saw that most of them were bunched up at the back of the dungeon.

"Move to the front. All of you. _Now_," he snapped. A bit sheepishly, everyone moved up to occupy the first two rows of desks. Snape tapped his fingers impatiently on the edge of the podium as he waited. Finally they were settled, and the rustle of robes and shuffling of feet died down. Snape gave the podium one final tap, loudly. More of a bang, really. All fidgeting stopped instantly.

"So. You have managed to make it to your sixth year," he sneered. Eyes flicking briefly in Harry's direction, he muttered, "Evidence, apparently, that miracles really do happen." For Snape this was a mild insult indeed. Harry supposed he was just warming up and there was worse to come.

"By now," said Snape, stalking back and forth in front of the classroom with an impatient flourish of his robes at every turn, "you should--_should_, I say--" with another glare at Harry-- "have a grasp of basic potion-making knowledge. You should know, for instance, what can happen if you do not follow directions precisely, if you do not time your potions exactly, or if you mistake your ingredients. If you do not possess this knowledge you do not belong in this classroom and you should leave. Now." He crossed his arms and waited, fingers tapping, lips compressed in a tight line. No one moved. With a disgusted look, Snape resumed pacing.

"Do not expect the next two years to be easy. The mere fact that you have chosen to become Aurors--" he spat the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth-- "is no guarantee that you will obtain NEWTs in my class. If you want credit you'll earn it. You will not be mollycoddled with constant direction and correction. If you don't understand something, ask. If you pay attention, there should be no need to ask. There is no excuse for failure."

He smacked his wand against the blackboard, and a list of instructions appeared.

"This is the routine you will follow for the next two years." He turned to the class, who were listening attentively. "Well?" he barked. "Why aren't you writing this down?" Harry thought resentfully that you just couldn't win with Snape. If you weren't writing, you got barked at. If you _were_ taking notes, as he had in his first year from the moment Snape began to speak, it didn't matter. You still got scolded. The students belatedly dragged quills and ink out of their bags and copied down the schedule, which read:

_Monday: New potion. Memorize ingredients and list the function of each._

_Tuesday: Memorize instructions for potion. Recite ingredients aloud in class from Monday's memorization._

_Wednesday: Discuss uses for potion, and antidotes if applicable._

_Thursday: Prepare potion._

_Friday: Library research for term project. Project is due on the last day of term and will consist of six feet of parchment on an assigned potion as well as manufacture of the potion itself. Your essay will cover ingredients, uses for the potion, antidotes if applicable, and instructions for manufacture including step-by-step observations of your own results._

There was much whispered grumbling and exclamation about the nature and length of the research project assignment--six feet of parchment!--mixed with the scratching of quills, as the schedule was assiduously copied onto seven pieces of parchment.

"Silence!" thundered Snape. The grumbling and exclamations ceased abruptly. He waved his wand at the board again and the schedule disappeared to be replaced with the assignment for the current week--Veritaserum--followed by a long list of ingredients. Ron tsk'd loudly. Snape's head whipped around.

"_Is_ there a problem, Weasley?" he inquired silkily. Ron reddened and averted his eyes.

"Well--it's just--I hadn't quite finished--" he stammered, falling silent under Snape's supercilious regard. He sighed, and began scribbling furiously to copy down the list of ingredients for the Veritaserum potion before that, too, should be whisked away. He looked up to see Harry staring fixedly at him in an attempt to get his attention.

"What?" Ron mouthed.

"You can copy mine," Harry whispered. "After class." Ron nodded, relieved. He turned back to his parchment to find Snape standing in front of his desk, a furious expression on his face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape told him. "There will be no idle chit-chat during this class. Visit with your--friends--later." To the class in general he said, "You would be well advised to do your own work. At NEWT level I should not be forced to put anti-cheating spells on your parchments...but I will if I feel it is necessary." He stalked back to the front of the class.

"Pay attention. I will not tell you twice. Veritaserum is one of the most important potions you will use if you do indeed, by the grace of all the powers that be, somehow manage to become Aurors." His expression said he doubted this eventuality. "Potter. Read the list of ingredients aloud and tell me the function of each. The rest of you: Pay. Attention. All of you will memorize this list and be able to recite it in class tomorrow."

Harry opened his mouth to read the first ingredient. Snape growled, "_Standing_, Potter. You will show some respect in my classroom." Harry stood, face burning with resentment, and, avoiding eye contact with Snape, he began to read aloud.

The same thought was in everyone's mind: this was going to be a very long year.


	5. Tears and Tryouts

CHAPTER 5

Tears and Tryouts

Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't get a chance to compare notes until that night at dinner. The boys had expected Hermione to be in their Charms class, but it turned out she had advanced Herbology that hour instead. Ron was extremely disappointed and was starting to act sulky.

"So, then, you mean the only class we have together is Potions? But that's no good--Snape won't let us talk, or--or anything!" He jammed his cheek down onto his fist and toyed grumpily with his food. Hermione patted his arm.

"That's okay, Ron," she said. "Actually it might be for the best. I mean, this way we won't be distracted from our studies all the time by having each other constantly around." Ron's eyes slid in her direction and then back to his plate, clearly not swayed by this logic.

"Well, it'll make us...appreciate our time together even more?" she tried. He grunted, determined to remain unconvinced.

"Oh come on, Ron," Hermione coaxed. "It's not like we'll never see each other. This is our future we're talking about. Our careers. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" She shook her head in exasperation and resumed eating. Ron sat up, indignant now.

"Your future? Your career?" he said, his voice starting to rise. Harry glanced at the staff table and put a hand on Ron's arm in warning. Ron shook it off.

"What about our future?" he said. "We've only been back at school for one day and you've already crowded me right out of your schedule. What was this summer all about--just a way to pass the time?"

By now several heads had turned their way. Hermione, flustered, tsk'd and threw her hands up, then buried her face in them. Ron swung his legs over the bench and swept from the Great Hall in a huff. Harry wasn't sure if he should go after him or stay with Hermione. He caught Seamus's eye and shrugged. Seamus winked.

"First quarrel for the young lovers, eh?" he said with a wise nod. "Never you mind, Hermione, he'll be back." Hermione raised her head to glare at him, angry tears shimmering in her eyes, and Seamus quickly stuffed a drumstick into his mouth, a cherubic expression on his puckish features. Harry attempted the role of peacemaker.

"Don't worry, Hermione. It's all just a bit--new. I expect it'll sort itself out after a bit, see if it doesn't."

Hermione sniffled. "Oh, Harry, this summer was lovely and I do care for Ron--after all, I never would have let things go as far as they did if I didn't care." Harry's eyebrows rose at this, but Hermione didn't stop to explain, leaving him awash in curiosity. How far had things gone? She rambled on.

"I mean, that was a holiday, and this is school. This is important, Harry. We only get one chance to get an education. We'll have the rest of our lives to be together, but right now we have to put all our efforts into school. Why can't he see that? It's not like we won't see each other every day, you know." She surreptitiously wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, belatedly aware of interested onlookers.

Harry had more or less stopped listening after "the rest of our lives". Did that mean--were Hermione and Ron--?

"The rest of your lives?" he blurted.

Hermione looked at him blankly. "What?"

"You said you'd have the rest of your lives to be together," he said.

"Oh--well, er, of course," Hermione said brightly. She fiddled nervously with her silverware, belying her casual tone. "I just meant--well, you know..." She trailed off and glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye to see if he was still listening. He was grinning with gleeful enjoyment at her discomfiture.

"Yes?" he said politely, heroically swallowing a laugh. It wasn't often that Hermione was caught without an answer.

"Oh, very well," she said crossly. "If you must know, Ron and I are unofficially--unofficially," she stressed, "engaged." She looked around furtively. "And I'd appreciate your keeping that to yourself, if you don't mind."

Harry was nonplussed. Engaged? At sixteen? He didn't realize he had voiced his thoughts aloud until Hermione hissed at him to put a sock in it.

"Harry, ssh! We don't want it to get about," she whispered. "It's far too early to say anything. Just keep it to yourself. Please." She got up. "Really, Ron's got to be a bit more reasonable about this." She bustled off, still muttering under her breath.

Harry looked around. Hagrid, at the staff table, gave him a broad wink and jerked his head to the left, toward Snape. He had once again somehow been seated next to Professor Lovejoy, who chatted blithely to him, appearing to not notice his white-knuckled grip on his goblet or the bizarre grimace he wore, which Harry supposed to be the Snape version of a smile.

As Harry watched the two of them, an amused grin on his face, Snape happened to look over and catch him staring. Immediately he thumped his goblet down, pushed his chair back and, nodding curtly to a startled Professor Lovejoy, abruptly left the Great Hall. She stared after him for a moment, then smiled to herself and continued with her meal.

Harry headed for the Gryffindor common room, somewhat puzzled. He couldn't see what there was about Snape that could possibly cause anyone to pursue his company. Professor Lovejoy couldn't like him. She couldn't! Of course she didn't. Snape? Never. It just wasn't possible. Harry chuckled at the direction his thoughts were taking. The very idea of someone as young and lovely as Professor Lovejoy being interested in that--that--well, words failed him. Harry shuddered and put the notion firmly out of his mind as he, too, left the hall to return to Gryffindor.

When he reached the portrait-hole, Hermione was holding the door open for a group of first-years, in full Prefect mode.

"Come on, now. No stragglers," she admonished. "If Filch finds you running about after hours you'll lose us house points." She eyed them sternly, hand on hip. "You do not want to lose house points," she warned. "Not if you want to get on in Gryffindor, you don't."

Harry walked past them to where Ron sat at a table by the window; his Potions book was open, but he was twirling his quill idly and not really studying. He looked at Harry sheepishly.

"Guess I made an ass of myself, didn't I?" he said. "I don't know, Harry. I heard the words coming out of my mouth, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself." He groaned pathetically. "I suppose Hermione's not speaking to me now, is she?"

"Don't be stupid," Harry said. "Just tell her you're sorry. Say you're not worthy of her and that you hope she's still willing to marry you."

Ron sat up straighter. "Yeah, I suppose I could go over there and--wait. What? What did you--" He rounded on Harry. "Marry me?" he squeaked. "What d'you mean? Who said anything about marriage?" He smiled weakly at Harry's knowing look.

"Oh, all right then. Told you, did she? Girls never can keep secrets. Don't let on to anyone, will you, Harry? Only we're a bit young for anyone to take us seriously, you know? We just want to keep it quiet for a while. All right?" He looked at Harry anxiously, and Harry relented.

"I already told Hermione I wouldn't say anything. Does anyone else know?"

Ron shook his head. "I think Ginny might suspect something," he mused, "but she can go right on suspecting. Won't hurt her a bit." They looked across the room to where Ginny and Hermione sat talking animatedly together. Once they looked over at Harry and Ron and giggled; when Hermione saw Ron watching her, she tossed her head and pointedly looked away.

"Oh yeah," Ron said, gloomy once more. "She's crazy about me, I can tell." Harry chuckled.

"We'd better memorize the ingredients for Veritaserum," he observed. "Have to recite them in class tomorrow. Yuck." He shivered theatrically. "Recitations. It'll be like grammar school all over again." He thought of Snape and struck his fist on the table, making Ron jump.

"I just remembered," Harry said. "Do you know, I think Professor Lovejoy has a thing for Snape." Ron goggled at him, his own woes momentarily forgotten.

"No," he breathed. "Really? What makes you think so?"

Harry told him about his observations at dinner. "And it looked to me," he concluded, "like she's maybe doing it on purpose--sitting with him, the little touches on his arm, trying to get him to talk to her. Looks like she's got a right old crush on him." He shook his head sorrowfully. "What a waste."

Ron shook his head in commiseration. "It is that, mate." They began to work on their Potions homework, but the picture of Professor Lovejoy's delicate beauty in close proximity to Snape's sallow, sour-faced visage remained at the back of Harry's mind and caused his dreams that night to be very odd indeed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Saturday morning and Gryffindor house Quidditch tryouts finally arrived. There was much excited buzzing at the Gryffindor table over breakfast that morning. Harry was elated. Between being barred from Quidditch the year before by Professor Umbridge and having had only the very occasional chance to practice with Ron in August, due to Ron's frequent disappearances with Hermione, Harry was afraid his flying, not to mention his Seeking skills might be a bit rusty. As Gryffindor's newly appointed captain, he was doubly determined not to let his house down.

As Harry walked out to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast, Hagrid fell into step beside him.

"All right then, Harry?" he asked cheerfully, with a jovial clap on the shoulder that almost felled Harry. "Lovely day fer Quidditch tryouts. Thought I might just watch fer a while, if yeh don't mind." He lowered his voice. "How was yer summer, Harry? Haven't really had a chance ter talk to yeh. Been busy, y'know. Got some wonderful new stuff in store for my classes this year. Pity yeh won't be there. I'll miss seein' you three every day, that I will."

They had reached the pitch. Hagrid seemed to realize he'd gotten sidetracked from the intended direction of his conversation and tried again.

"So--was yer summer, er, pretty quiet, then, Harry?" Hagrid winked, laid a finger alongside his nose, and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, "If yeh know what I mean."

Just then Alicia Spinnet caught sight of Harry and jogged up to them.

"Come on, Harry," she panted. "Better get started. Looks like we've got a pretty good-sized group who want to try out." She took hold of his wrist and marched him smartly off. Harry glanced back and gave a belated thumbs-up to Hagrid to indicate his summer had been uneventful, but Hagrid was already turning away to climb the nearest viewing stand. There were a few scattered Gryffindors who had come to watch the tryouts and were looking forward to spending some time in the sun.

A rather large group of students stood waiting nervously for Harry. The first-years looked at him in awe; not only was he the famous Harry Potter, but he was captain of their own Quidditch team. For a moment Harry had a strange sensation, a combined feeling of smugness and arrogance, as he surveyed the group before him and realized that now he was their leader. They were all anxious to please him; they cared what he thought. For a brief moment he basked in a feeling of supreme self-satisfaction.

Then, without warning, he felt a searing blaze of pain from his scar. His hand flew to his forehead and he felt faint. Ron noticed and, worried, started toward him.

Suddenly Harry remembered a vision of his father being unbearably smug and arrogant. The previous year Snape had attempted to teach Harry the art of Occlumency, or closing one's mind to external probing, in an attempt to keep Voldemort from penetrating Harry's mind and being able to control him. When Harry had succumbed to curiosity about the Pensieve sitting on Snape's desk, while Snape was out of the room for a moment, Harry had inadvertently witnessed an old memory of Snape's from when he was a student at Hogwarts, at the same time as James Potter.Harry had never known his father, who had been killed by Voldemort when Harry was very young, but he had always carried an idealized picture of his father in his mind. After seeing this vision, Harry's perception of his father had undergone a radical change, not for the better, and one which he was still at times reluctant to acknowledge. James Potter had not always been the warm, caring person Harry had grown up seeing in his mind's eye. Harry was not particularly grateful to Snape for this unwanted glimpse of reality, nor for his new understanding of what Snape meant when he told Harry he was "just like his father". He now knew that, at least when Snape said it, it was decidedly not meant as a compliment.

Ron reached Harry's side. "All right, Harry?" he asked quietly. Harry swallowed and nodded.

"It was just my scar--for a minute," he replied. Ron's eyes widened. He was well aware that whenever Harry's scar hurt, it meant that he and Voldemort were mentally connecting in some way. He looked an emphatic question at Harry, who shook his head. They would have to discuss it later. Shaking himself, Harry addressed the waiting hopefuls.

"Right, then, everyone. As you know, we've got four openings on the team this year. Most likely Ron Weasley will be staying on as Keeper, but to be fair we'll try out anyone else who's interested in the position. We also need two Beaters and a Chaser. So--let's divide into groups." He waved off to the left. "Chasers over here. Beaters--here. Keepers--here." There was only one prospective Keeper other than Ron.

"Okay. Let's start with the Chasers. I'm going to put the Quaffle up, and I want to see how you do on passing and scoring goals. Two at a time, up you go."

Ginny and Dennis Creevey were the first two to take to their brooms. At Harry's direction they passed to each other and practiced scoring goals while Ron and Katie Bell stood in as Keepers at either end of the pitch. Harry called them down after five minutes of hard flying.

"Good show, you two," he said, shaking their hands. "Next two Chasers!" He put all six prospective Chasers through the same drills, trying to remain scrupulously impartial although he really did think Ginny showed the most promise, being quick, agile, and surprisingly aggressive.

Everyone looked at Harry expectantly. He sighed. He knew what he was going to do, but he hoped no one would see it as favoritism.

"All right, everyone. You all did really well," he began. "I'm glad to see some first-years have decided to try out." These were two eleven-year-old boys, avid Quidditch fans as many students were at that age.

"You'll get your chance eventually," he told them. "And don't go anywhere, because we're going to need all of you in a few minutes, if you don't mind assisting. But for now I would like to welcome our new Chaser--Ginny Weasley." A burst of applause from the spectators indicated that Gryffindor appeared to be well enough pleased with his choice, which Harry was pleased to note.

The Beaters auditioned next. There were only two of them--Fred and George Weasley's best mate Lee Jordan, a seventh-year student, and--surprisingly--Lavender Brown. The most noticeable thing about her, Harry had always thought, was her tendency to leap to Professor Trelawney's defense any time a student maligned Trelawney's supposed ability with divination. That and her unfortunate propensity for giggling annoyingly whenever a boy paid any attention to her. Harry doubted Lavender truly had the aggressive tendencies necessary to make her a decent Beater. But as there were two vacancies and only two people interested in trying out for them, he had to give her a chance.

"Right--Beaters, here's what you're going to do. Hermione has kindly put a Flying Charm on four sets of robes. I want you to use the Bludgers like you would in a real Quidditch game and try to knock out the robes. Let's see how you do. Up you go!" He released the two Bludgers and Lee and Lavender soared after them, bats at the ready.

Harry shivered a little as he watched the charmed robes swirling above the pitch. They looked eerily like the Dementors that had haunted his third year at Hogwarts, hunting for Harry's outlawed godfather, Sirius Black. The Dementors had traditionally been under the control of the Ministry of Magic and were used as guards at Azkaban, the wizard prison, but over the last two years it had become increasingly apparent that they now bowed to a more malevolent authority, indeed were likely in the service of Voldemort himself.

"Pretend they're Slytherins!" someone shouted, and everyone laughed. Lee, who had formerly participated in Quidditch games only as an announcer, apparently took the advice to heart, swinging at the Bludgers so hard he nearly fell off his broom twice. Harry looked at him skeptically; Lee might not be a veteran Quidditch player, but Harry knew him to be a better flyer than that. He crossed his arms, waiting for Lee to look at him, then raised his hands--and eyebrows--inquiringly. Lee wobbled a bit, then straightened and gave Harry a devilish grin.

"Just joking, Harry!" he called, and in quick succession sent the Bludgers whirling through all four sets of robes. He flew past Harry with a flourish and bowed. The onlookers clapped, whistled, and cheered. Harry rolled his eyes but was inwardly relieved that Lee could at least fly well when he wanted to.

Lavender, too, acquitted herself well. Harry thought she must either have some hidden aggression in her or had found playing Quidditch a good way to take out her frustrations in life. Whatever the reason, when she hit a Bludger, she did it like she meant it. Her aim wasn't half bad, either.

"Pretty good, you two," said Harry after he had waved them back down. "I think you'll do." He turned to the stands and gestured toward Lee and Lavender. "Our new Beaters!" More cheering and applause ensued; the new Beaters had wide grins on their faces.

Finally it was time for Ron to defend his tenuous position as Keeper. He had gotten it by a fluke the previous year since no one else had been willing to step into Oliver Wood's shoes after his graduation and departure from Hogwarts. Ron's performance had been abysmal for most of the year, prompting Malfoy's evil genius to invent a song along the lines of "Weasley always lets the Quaffle in; Weasley is our King," sung with great gusto by Slytherins at all of Gryffindor's matches, to Ron's great chagrin. He had improved marginally toward the end of the year, and Harry hoped he'd been practicing hard over the summer.

"Keepers!" he called. Ron and a first-year, Michael Browning, came forward. "Each of you will take a goal," Harry explained. "We'll use all six Chasers who have tried out today. They'll bombard the goals with Quaffles, and you do your best to block them. During games there is only one Quaffle in play, but I want to see how your reaction times are. Professor McGonagall will keep score so we'll have some basis for comparison." Professor McGonagall waved from the announcer's stand. "Up you go!" called Harry.

Ron and Michael flew to opposite ends of the pitch and hovered around their respective goal hoops. Ron's hands were sweating badly, but he clung tightly to his broom, grimly determined to make a good showing. Michael, by contrast, sat his broom with ease and rather looked as if he were enjoying himself.

The Chasers flew haphazardly across the pitch, coming at the hoops from all angles, sometimes swerving away at the last moment, at other times turning mid-field from a feinted retreat to fire their Quaffles. Both Ron and Michael were doing a fairly good job of repelling them. After three minutes Harry blew his whistle and motioned all the players down. He turned toward the announcer's stand.

"How does it look, Professor?" he called.

Professor McGonagall ahemmed and, pointing her wand at her throat, said, "_Sonorus_!" She cleared her throat again, and now her voice rang clearly across the pitch.

"It seems we have a tie, Mr Potter," she said. "Twenty points for each Keeper." She pointed her wand at her throat again, said, "_Quietus_," and waited expectantly.

Harry looked at the waiting Keepers. Michael's eyes were shining; he could hardly contain his eager, pink-cheeked excitement. Ron, on the other hand, was looking anywhere but at Harry in an attempt to appear supremely unconcerned with the outcome of the trials. Harry grinned--if Ron was so unconcerned, maybe Harry would have a little fun at his expense.

"Thank you both for trying out," he said. "You both did great. Michael--" Ron's shoulders drooped noticeably-- "thank you for coming. I hope you'll try out again; you've got the makings of a good Keeper." Harry paused, watching the disappointment on Ron's face turn to uncertainty, then to disbelieving joy.

"Well, Ron, if you're willing, we'd like you to stay on as Gryffindor's Keeper," Harry said, walking over and shaking Ron's hand. The Gryffindor spectators in the stands cheered and chanted, "Weas–ley! Weas–ley!" as Ron stood with a dazed look on his face. Finally Harry nudged him and muttered, "Wake up, mate--you made the team." Suddenly Ron whooped and caught Harry up in a hearty hug, slapping his back and jumping up and down all at the same time. Spying Ginny nearby, he hugged her, too, whirling her around until they were both breathless and laughing.

Harry watched their antics with a feeling of contentment. Potions, Snape, and even Voldemort seemed rather unreal and far away just now. This was how it was supposed to be--all his friends together and happy and enjoying life. Hagrid gave him a thumbs-up and a big smile from the stands, and Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly.

The players began heading back to the changing room. As Harry neared the exit gate, walking alone for the moment, Malfoy suddenly stepped out from where he had been watching the proceedings unnoticed. His lips twisted in a characteristic sneer.

"How like you, Potter," he drawled, "to let every lame duck in Gryffindor try out. You don't stand a chance against Slytherin this year. I can't believe you're letting Weasley stay on as Keeper. That mistake's going to cost you." He moved away from the stand and sauntered off. "Can't wait for our first match," he threw over his shoulder.

Ron came up behind Harry. "What did that slimy little git want?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. "Just insulting everyone. You know. The usual."

Ron eyed him skeptically. "Insulting me, you mean."

Harry shrugged. "Does it really matter?" he asked. "You showed him what you're made of last year. You'll show him again this year. He could do with some reminding."

"Speaking of reminding," said Ron. "Where d'you suppose his two gorillas have got to? Looks like there's been a little break-up, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Wonder where they ended up? We know they're not going to be Aurors."

Ron snorted. "They're not in Potions, Hermione would have said. Maybe they had to repeat their fifth year," he chuckled as they entered the changing room. "Looks like Malfoy can't be bothered with them, at any rate. Must be just awful to have to do everything alone. Poor ickle Dwaco," he crooned, "all awone." He sniggered.

Harry batted him on the arm playfully, but at the same time he wondered what really had become of Crabbe and Goyle. He hadn't seen them since the first morning of term when they had left the Great Hall with their choice of career paths still unresolved. He remembered Ron's remark about their desire to become Death Eaters...and he wondered.


	6. Opposites Attract

CHAPTER 6

Opposites Attract

Professor Lovejoy awoke on the last Sunday in September to bright sunlight streaming in at her window. She loved sunny days in autumn this far north when they were crisp and cold, the heat of summer having long since spent itself. She much preferred cold weather to hot; it was more conducive to brisk walks, evenings spent before a crackling fire, and weekend mornings such as this one when you could lie in bed for those last few precious moments savoring the comfort of warm blankets and anticipating the delights still to come of breakfast and a day of freedom to do as you pleased. Professor Lovejoy often thought she might have been a cat in a previous life, so greatly did she enjoy her creature comforts.

This morning she lay abed musing on her situation at Hogwarts and the two males who, unbeknownst to either of them, bade fair to make this one of the most memorable years she had ever experienced.

Severus Snape, she thought to herself. Now there was an interesting man, if you liked. Forbidding, grim, and frosty--really, he was a challenge just begging to be conquered. She smiled. He had seemed quite horrified that she would actually dare to touch him. It was such fun to tease him, pretending to be oblivious to his scorn as she artlessly chattered to him, and his distaste when she put her hand on his. How delicious!

Professor Lovejoy was realizing that she had a heretofore undiscovered playful side. She had decided upon meeting Snape that he took himself far too seriously, and she was enjoying every minute of what she thought of as his loosening-up process. If she had any other purpose for her determined campaign, she avoided thinking about it for the moment. Time enough to cross that bridge after it's built, she felt.

No, for now it was enough to simply Be Everywhere. Everywhere Snape was, that is. Beside him at meals (the other teachers understood that for some reason she actually wanted to sit with him, and were more than happy for her to do so); beside him in the stands at Quidditch games (which happened, entirely coincidentally, to be an excellent opportunity to sit very close to him under the guise of crowded seats, an innocent expression on her face all the while as she slid even closer); or "accidentally" bumping into him in Hogsmeade the week before term began.

He was still at the jumpy stage. Whenever she touched him or smiled at him, he did a double-take and jumped away. Soon, she mused, he should reach the resigned stage, where he stopped jumping away and resigned himself to the fact that she was there and wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Then--well, as has already been said, she would cross that bridge when the time came. Things were moving along nicely just as they were.

She smiled to herself. This lovely day just begged to be spent walking by the lake. She flung the covers back bravely, gasped as her feet hit the icy floor, and dressed quickly, eager to begin her day.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape awoke that morning in his dungeon rooms, a vague sense of foreboding niggling at him. What was it? Was something going to happen? He yawned widely, trying to clear his head so he could remember.

Then he remembered: Trillium Lovejoy, that's what the matter was. He groaned. Merlin's beard, why did she always seem to appear everywhere he went? If he didn't know better, he'd think she was infatuated with him. But as anyone should be able to see, that was utter nonsense. No, she must be harassing him for some other reason. His mind, long accustomed to looking for the worst in everyone, ran in circles like a hamster on its wheel, wrestling with the problem.

What could she possibly want from him? He had become convinced early in life that everyone wanted something. No one would pretend to befriend someone like him unless they were after something. Why should Trillium Lovejoy be any different?

Trillium. He snorted. Ridiculous name. Actually rather apt, though, he supposed. White, lily-like skin shading to pink on her smooth cheeks, and that darker pink when she was flustered that spread down her neck and throat and--

No. He would not think of that. She was just another teacher. More of a pest, really. Yes, that was a good way to think of her. As a pest--no more than an insect to be squashed. Although whoever had heard of an insect with hair of that rich, dark brown touched with fire--

_No_. Snape shifted uncomfortably beneath his blankets. This was insane. Was he going to lie in bed all day dreaming of the pestilential Professor Lovejoy? He was not. Most certainly not. There were potions to brew, lessons to plan, unpleasant detentions to think up for the next time Potter happened to put a toe out of line--surely it would be soon--and dozens of other useful things he could do with his time.

Snape groaned again and dragged himself out of bed. He wondered what the weather was like and wished, not for the first time, that Slytherin's quarters weren't in the dratted dungeons. Having his classroom down here was fine--for the best, really, no windows to provide distractions for the students. But it would be nice to know how many layers of clothing to wear under his robes _before_ going up to the main floor of the castle and finding he had misjudged the weather yet again. It was always cold and damp in the dungeons, even in the hottest part of summer, so it was difficult to judge.

He sighed, feeling vaguely put-upon. First no windows, and now this Lovejoy problem. He saw the words that way in his mind: _The Lovejoy Problem_. Perhaps he just needed to clear his head a bit. Suddenly he thought of the lake. He used to enjoy walking there on fine days. He hadn't gone in months--had it been years, even? he wondered. That sounded like just what he needed.

He paused in the middle of dressing. One shirt? Two? A sweater...or perhaps not? Finally, disgusted with his indecision, he put them all on and climbed the stairway to the main hall. He grimaced at the bright sunshine--obviously he had guessed wrong again--but began to enjoy himself a little once he walked out into the cool, crisp air. Lovely day. And best of all--no Trillium Lovejoy in sight. He strode off toward the lake, feeling almost cheerful.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy hummed to herself as she strolled slowly along the edge of the lake, stopping now and then to look at an interesting rock or just to enjoy the view. A bit earlier the giant squid had surfaced to swim companionably alongside her as she walked, but the frosty air had eventually driven it back to the more hospitable temperatures created by hot springs in the depths of the lake.

Pausing on the far side of a house-sized boulder of granite, Professor Lovejoy bent to take a stone out of the sole of one smart leather half-boot. A large slab of the boulder had broken off and now provided a convenient place to sit while she replaced her boot. She decided to rest for a while before returning to the school. There was cloudless blue sky in every direction. The distant mountains already had snowy caps, and the ground was damp with melted frost.

She reveled in the stillness for quite some time. It was so quiet. She could almost hear the air itself as it wafted past her, redolent with the early-morning scents of lake, soil, and a rich hint of pine from the edge of the forest. She hugged her knees and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the warmth of the autumn sun on her face.

This was the sight that greeted Snape's eyes as he rounded the boulder on his own perambulations around the end of the lake. With a stifled exclamation he stopped short, his feet scuffling in the loose pebbles lining the shore.

Professor Lovejoy blinked, startled out of her reverie. She hadn't heard his approach. When she saw Snape, she smiled and held out a hand to him.

"Severus!" she exclaimed. "Come and join me. Isn't it a glorious morning?"

Snape, disappointed beyond words to find his solitude invaded, and by her of all people--really, was there nowhere he could go without stumbling over her?--rudely made as if to turn and leave, but Professor Lovejoy was too quick for him. She hopped off the rock and grabbed his hand impulsively.

"Oh, please, Severus," she said prettily, "won't you stay? I should very much enjoy sharing this lovely view with you. Come and sit down--there's room for both of us." She tugged him toward the rock as she spoke. Snape followed slowly, his steps lagging. He glanced up at her and his eyes narrowed in suspicion at her smug little smile. She, noticing that he had noticed, as quickly assumed a pleasantly innocent expression. Too innocent by half, if he knew anything. What was she up to?

Professor Lovejoy resumed her previous seat--taking the flattest, most comfortable place, he noticed sourly--and pulled him down beside her. He perched, stiff and uncomfortable, on the edge of the rock, feeling ridiculous. He didn't want to be here, and he emphatically didn't want to be here with her. A slow resentment began to build inside him.

How dared she come here, to his own favorite place, and invite him to stay as if she owned it? And what--_what_--was the reason for that smirk he'd caught her in just now? Unpleasant suspicions flitted vaguely through Snape's mind. He did not tolerate being made to look foolish, and he was increasingly sure that somehow she was making fun of him, teasing him. He had no intention of being the butt of anyone's joke.

"Severus?" Professor Lovejoy's voice broke through the turmoil of his thoughts. "My, you do look fierce. Whatever can the matter be?" She smiled impishly, squeezing his hand. He belatedly realized she was still holding it and jerked it away abruptly. At that, she laughed outright. He glared at her, stiff with outrage.

"Why, Severus, are you afraid of me?" she asked, tilting her head on one side and regarding him assessingly. Snape gave her his most quelling look, but she continued gazing at him in that maddeningly inquisitive way.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, at his most forbidding. She just laughed.

"Well, you certainly jump every time I touch you," she said. "Or get close to you." She scooted in his direction a tiny bit and Snape moved further away, fuming. What was the dratted woman playing at?

With great dignity he stated, "You are mistaken. I merely do not care to be touched."

Professor Lovejoy's sparkling laugh echoed out over the lake. "Really, Severus?" She turned to face him. "Now, I'm quite the opposite. I quite like having my hand held." She took his closest hand in both of hers. Startled, he pulled away, but she was stronger than she looked, and quite determined into the bargain.

"I enjoy the feel of a warm hand on my skin," she said, lifting one of her hands to suit actions to words. Snape sat as if mesmerized, watching her hand move closer and closer to his face. She moved slowly, as if he were a wild animal that might run at any moment. This was almost too easy, she reflected as she touched his face.

Snape sat frozen with disbelief. This could not be happening. People--women--simply did not invite themselves practically into his lap and then start stroking his face. How very odd. Rather belatedly he managed a moue of distaste.

"Really, Professor," he croaked. He cleared his throat--damn the woman!--and began again. "This is most unseemly." Against his will he found himself enjoying the feel of her hand. It was soft, and smelled of flowers.

She was an impertinent nuisance.

Desperately fighting against the unfamiliar lassitude that was stealing over him, Snape stammered, "What--what if a student were to see us?" Immediately he said it, he wished he could unsay it. Us? There was no _us_. He had to be more careful; next thing you know, she'd--she'd kiss him, or worse! (Although, it has to be said, he'd be hard pressed to think of anything much worse.)

Professor Lovejoy's warm eyes remained fixed on his. She found herself greatly affected by his nearness. Perhaps this wasn't just a game any more. She wondered how far she could push him before he snapped. And even then--what would he do? What _could_ he do? It would certainly be interesting to find out.

Slowly but inexorably she drew his face down until they were only a breath apart. Snape seemed unable to back away, watching her with a half-horrified, half-fascinated expression on his face.

And then--

She kissed him.

Gently at first, then with growing warmth. No, this was definitely no game, she decided. This was actually quite nice. It would be even better if he would participate just a little bit. She brought her other hand up to hold his face and stole a look at him from under her lashes. His eyes were starting to glaze over--a good sign, she supposed. She drew a breath and kissed him again, this time putting everything she had into it. She felt his arms go around her and then, amazingly, he was kissing her back. Kissing her like he meant it.

Well, well, well, said the one small corner of her mind that was still able to think properly. Who would have guessed he had such a talent? Or was capable of such feeling? She gave herself up to the kiss, which ended all too soon.

Dazed, she opened her eyes. She started to smile, but Snape thrust her away as if he'd been burned. He leaped to his feet, aghast. Professor Lovejoy started to get up as well, but he held up one hand imperiously.

"No," he said hoarsely. Without another word he turned and walked swiftly away, back toward the castle.

Professor Lovejoy wondered what was going through his mind right now. That had gone somewhat further than she had intended. She hadn't expected the rush of feelings she had experienced when Snape had finally started responding to her kiss. Well! she thought. I suppose _that_ is what happens when he's pushed too far. How very interesting, to be sure.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Damn her eyes! was what was going through Snape's mind just then. Why had he allowed such a thing to happen? Why had she insisted on pushing him so far? His own response had shaken him badly. For a brief instant he had almost wanted to give in to a need that had lain dormant and unacknowledged for much of his life--the simple need for someone to like him.

He strode along, quashing the thought further with every furious step. Having needs meant showing weakness. He couldn't afford to indulge in either one. The Dark Lord was out there somewhere, and Snape had no illusions concerning his own future. Future? He laughed humorlessly. He had no future. Sooner or later he would be called to account for deserting Voldemort in his time of greatest need, not to mention betraying him by going to Dumbledore. As it was, whatever strength he could find within himself probably would not be enough to survive that encounter. He tried not to think about it, but the burning of the Dark Mark on his arm, more frequent of late as the Dark Lord summoned his Death Eaters to do his bidding, was impossible to ignore.

Snape knew of Sybil Trelawney's prediction regarding Harry and Voldemort--the prophesy that Voldemort had been so eager to hear for himself. Really, he thought, Potter had the most amazing luck. Just like his father. Snape couldn't bring himself to believe Harry's past defeats of Voldemort were due to anything like talent--more like dumb luck, he was sure. Professor Trelawney was nothing but an old fraud. But then again...

He wondered what would happen the next time Voldemort confronted Harry. Dumb luck or not, after five failed attempts to kill Harry since his arrival at Hogwarts, Voldemort had to be wondering about the fulfillment of the prophecy.

Snape was not one to indulge in foolish optimism. But he did rather wonder what odds a gambler would give on the outcome.


	7. Punishment in Potions

CHAPTER 7

Punishment in Potions

Harry climbed the main staircase and walked briskly down the corridor leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The castle was chilly with the onset of the usual rainy weather of late October. The tempting aromas of toast and bacon emanated from the Great Hall, where breakfast was just beginning, but he wanted a bit of peace and quiet--commodities that were in short supply in the Gryffindor common room, even this early in the morning. He intended to do some reading on the anti-aging potion Snape had assigned as his term project. Defense Against the Dark Arts was his first class of the day, so studying in that classroom had the added advantage of allowing him to not have to keep one eye on the clock. Missing breakfast--well, it was a small price to pay. He was determined to wrest an O from Snape in his Potions NEWT, if such a thing were humanly possible.

As he neared the classroom, he heard someone speaking inside it. A few feet more and he could distinguish the voices of Dumbledore and Professor Lovejoy.

"Of course, Headmaster, if you feel it would be best," Professor Lovejoy was saying. "You really think Harry ought to know?" Harry's ears perked up. They were talking about him! Noiselessly he crept closer.

"Most definitely," came Dumbledore's voice. "I have learned to my misfortune--and his--that secrets should not be kept from Harry about his past. It is time he knew about this, especially since his mother's family--the Dursleys, dreadful people, I'm afraid--and of course, with Sirius gone now...well, he deserves to know."

"Poor Harry," said Professor Lovejoy. "Really, he seems to have survived it all better than one would have expected, doesn't he? Very well, then. I'll speak with him this afternoon."

"Thank you, my dear," said Dumbledore. "I'm happy you've come to join us--for many reasons. I think your presence here may prove beneficial to more than just Harry."

"I--I beg your pardon?" Professor Lovejoy stammered. Harry peeked in at the open door to see her looking rather flustered.

Dumbledore twinkled at her over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "I've always found the lake shore to be a lovely place to walk on nice days. There is a boulder a little way along--most conveniently placed, I've always thought."

Professor Lovejoy gasped. Dumbledore chuckled. "A word of advice, however, if I may: be very careful. Remember what can happen when you play with fire, eh?" He gestured toward the door. "Now, shall we go down and break our fast? I feel in need of a good rasher of bacon, myself."

Harry whirled around and on silent feet sped back to the staircase. He turned so it would appear that he was only now approaching the classroom, just as Dumbledore and Professor Lovejoy rounded the corner. Dumbledore looked his usual serene self, but two round pink spots stained Professor Lovejoy's cheeks.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him. "What brings you up here so early?"

"Yes," said Professor Lovejoy, "shouldn't you be at breakfast?"

"Well, I wanted some time to study before class. Er--is it all right if I use your classroom until class begins, Professor?" Harry asked her.

"Oh. Why yes, of course, Harry," she said. "I'll see you in class, then, shall I?" She glanced at Dumbledore, gave Harry a distracted smile, and went ahead down the stairs to the Great Hall. Harry stared after her, wondering what all that had been about. Dumbledore hesitated, his hand on the stair railing.

"Was there something else, Harry?" he asked gently.

Harry started. "No--no, thank you, sir." Dumbledore smiled and followed Professor Lovejoy toward the sound of breakfast. Harry walked on to the classroom, his mind working furiously. He made a conscious effort to put the conversation he had heard out of his mind so as to make the best use of his solitary study time. But, like a fresh fall of snow on Christmas Eve, knowing that Professor Lovejoy held a secret about him tantalized Harry all day long.

And it was a very long day. It was stormy; the heavy clouds and drenching rain were so depressing that in a way Harry was actually glad to enter the dungeon classroom for Potions. At least here there was no sound of rain pounding on the windows and no spears of lightning being exclaimed over every few minutes. The dim, candlelit classroom seemed almost cozy for once.

Then Snape entered in his usual whirlwind fashion and the candles flickered in the breeze of his passing, reinforcing the dungeon's usual weird atmosphere.

Snape seemed more restless than usual today. He was in a peculiar mood, more distracted than surly. Harry wondered if there was something going on that only the professors knew about; Professor Lovejoy had seemed similarly preoccupied earlier that morning.

"Today is the halfway point of the term," Snape announced in a bored voice. "You all received your term project assignments in the first week of class. By a show of hands, how many of you have begun working on your projects?"

More than half the class raised their hands.

"Let me rephrase that. How many of you have progressed beyond writing your name and assigned potion at the head of your parchment?"

Most of the hands were lowered. It appeared that Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy were the only students who had begun serious work on their projects. So far, so good, thought Harry. He knew Hermione was nearly finished with her project, but that was to be expected. It felt remarkably good to be in the group that was furthest ahead, for a change.

"There will be no extension of the deadline," Snape warned. "Projects are to be turned in at the beginning of class on the last day of the term. Slovenly work will not be tolerated." He stood there for a few seconds staring blankly ahead of him, as if he had forgotten what he was going to say. Then he appeared to recall himself to his surroundings, gave the class a thoroughly nasty look, and said curtly, "Well? This is Thursday, is it not? I trust by now you don't need me to tell you what to do. Ingredients for this week's potion are in the supply cabinet as always." He waved his wand and the cabinet doors flew open. "Begin, begin!" He remained in the room long enough to assure himself that people were starting to work on their potions, then abruptly swept out again.

"Wow. What's eating him?" Ron said curiously. "Must be something big to get him to leave with his supply cabinet wide open." He shook his head and, list in hand, went up to get his materials. Malfoy, already returning to his desk, rudely shouldered Ron out of the way as they passed.

"Watch where you're going, Weasel," Malfoy snarled. "Wouldn't want anything to spill, now would we?" He held up a small vial of sickly-green acid and mimed "accidentally" dumping it on Ron. Hermione glared as Malfoy went past her desk.

"Oh, grow up, Malfoy," she said witheringly. He stopped in his tracks.

"What was that, Mudblood?" he hissed. "You want to watch that pointy nose of yours, Granger. Keep poking it in where it doesn't belong and you'll live...to regret it." He flicked the end of her nose carelessly.

Hermione was in no mood to put up with his nonsense. The flat of her hand came down hard on her desktop. Malfoy started violently, a fact which afforded Harry and Ron much amusement. Unfortunately he stumbled into Hermione's desk, causing her own vial of acid to overturn on the desktop. Immediately a cloud of poisonous-looking green smoke arose. Hermione looked wildly around for anything she could use to mop up the mess before it dripped onto the floor. Harry and Neville, on either side of her, were frantically moving books, parchment, and other items out of the way to a safe distance from the spill. Malfoy watched from his own desk, openly gleeful.

Into the midst of this chaos walked Snape, who had been pacing in the corridor outside.

"Silence!" he thundered, approaching Hermione's desk. "_Evanesco!_" he cried, waving his wand over the spilled acid. All evidence of the disaster vanished except for a large burn mark on the desktop. Snape glared at Hermione.

"Explain yourself!" he shouted. She tried to speak, but no sound came out. She was as pale as parchment. Malfoy watched, smirking. After a moment he couldn't remain still any longer.

"Well, you see, Professor," he began eagerly, but Snape interrupted him.

"Malfoy. _Be still_." Shocked at the unaccustomed reprimand, Malfoy fell silent.

Snape tapped his wand against his open hand. Hermione stared at the hypnotic motion.

"Well, Granger? You are wasting my time. Explain immediately."

In a small voice, Hermione began, "He--he called me a Mudblood, sir. And--and threatened me."

"Someone calls you names, so you throw acid on them?" Snape asked tightly. Hermione looked up, appalled.

"No, sir! I would never--that's not what happened at all! I--I hit my desk rather hard, a-and the vial fell over and spilled. That's all, honestly, Professor."

"I see." Snape's nostrils were so pinched Harry wasn't sure how he continued to breathe through them. "If you are to survive in this world, Granger, it would behoove you to develop a thicker skin. Name-calling is for juveniles." He flicked a glance at Malfoy, who colored resentfully. "There are far worse things than being called names." He held up one hand as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. "I don't care what names. Your personal problems do not concern me. Get--over--it."

Snape moved to the front of the classroom. His eyes roved over the desks and came to rest on Malfoy. He looked consideringly from Malfoy to Hermione.

"Very well," he said finally. "Since Granger and Malfoy seem unable to progress beyond grammar-school behavior, we will resort to a grammar-school solution to the problem. Malfoy, trade places with Longbottom immediately."

"But, sir--" began Malfoy.

"Malfoy," said Snape in a dangerous voice. "Pray do not make me repeat myself." Malfoy gathered up his belongings with a martyred air. Ron hurriedly assisted Neville to reload his books into his bag. The switch was accomplished in moments. Malfoy ostentatiously placed his things on his desk as far away from Hermione as possible and sat down, turning so that his back was to her. Harry didn't think she even noticed; she still sat gaping at Snape in dazed disbelief.

Snape observed the new seating arrangement. "Malfoy and Granger will be lab partners for the remainder of the term," he announced. "Is that clear?" Hermione and Malfoy both mumbled something inaudible.

"I said, _is that clear_?" Snape repeated, and they said, scarcely louder, "Yes, sir." Snape seated himself at his desk, drawing some rolls of parchment toward him for correcting.

"I shall remain here since you apparently can not be trusted to perform the simplest assignment without causing a disturbance. You have wasted considerable time; I advise you to use what remains of this class wisely."

Harry sympathized with Hermione, but he reluctantly kept quiet for the rest of class, not wishing to become another target for Snape's temper. As soon as class ended, he and Ron, with looks that boded ill for Malfoy--and were returned in full measure--accompanied Hermione out of the classroom. Malfoy followed them out and headed for the Slytherin common room with another smirk but said nothing for the moment, not wanting to chance being overheard by Snape.

"What rotten luck, Hermione!" raged Ron. "That's pure favoritism, that is. It wasn't your fault. Snape can't get away with this!"

Hermione looked at him miserably. "Don't be absurd, Ron. Of course he can. He's the teacher. Malfoy's a Slytherin. Snape's not going to punish his favorite Death-Eater-in-training." She hunched into her robes, clutching her notebook tightly to her. "I'll just have to make the best of it."

"Well," said Harry in an attempt to comfort, "at least it's only the rest of this term." But they all knew it would seem much longer.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape left the room on the heels of his students in time to overhear Hermione's remarks. He was perfectly well aware of who had instigated the acid disaster. Malfoy might be one of "his" Slytherins, but Snape wasn't blind or stupid. Truthfully, the punishment was directed more at Malfoy than Hermione--goody-two-shoes or not, of the two of them she had greater strength of character and was, Snape felt, better able to weather the punishment than Malfoy. Privately, Snape thought it would do both of them a world of good. Sooner or later Malfoy was going to have to face up to the fact that, as with any other kind of purebreds, the world of pureblood magical folk was getting smaller. Without Muggle-borns adding to the mix, the magical world would eventually breed itself into extinction.

It was the reference to Death Eaters that really gave him pause. Just how much did Granger know? Was that just temper--her retaliation for the "Mudblood" comment--or could she possibly realize how close she was to the truth?

For Snape was under no illusions when it came to the Malfoy clan's loyalties. Narcissa and Lucius were among Voldemort's most faithful servants, and Draco had been conditioned from birth to follow in their footsteps.

Unless, Snape mused, Harry Potter actually managed to destroy the Dark Lord. (Dumb luck had, after all, got him this far.) What would become of the Death Eaters if Voldemort no longer existed? Would one of them rise to power in his place and continue his reign of terror? If Voldemort and his Death Eaters were not destroyed, it was inevitable that the wizarding world would eventually cease to be hidden. If that were to happen, who knew how it would all end?

Snape wished there were some way he could get Draco off the path to ruin that he was now following. He knew better than most what price would eventually be demanded--no less than his very soul. Of course, Draco was still too young to understand that. It was why Death Eaters wanted recruits as young as possible--all they saw was the potential for power and glory. Souls meant very little to the young. By the time they realized what they had lost, if they ever did, it was too late.

Although Snape realized how much of himself he had sacrificed through his service to Voldemort, he hoped he still had a soul. Sometimes, such as today when he had punished Malfoy and Granger, he doubted that it still existed. He had enjoyed their horrified reaction, enjoyed wielding his power over them. But at other times he felt an odd conflict inside himself, as if his soul were trying to fight its way free. Professor Lovejoy's kiss had made him feel like that--was, indeed, the only thing powerful enough to have caused that feeling since his decision to betray Voldemort and side against him with Dumbledore. Confusion had tormented him constantly following his lakeside encounter with Professor Lovejoy. It was like the itch of a label inside your shirt collar--you could forget it for short periods, but then it returned worse than ever.

Despite his many faults Snape was, at least, honest with himself. He acknowledged the profound effect Trillium Lovejoy had had on him--even if he didn't like it. She had made him think about things he had already given up on, things like the possibility of friendship, or even love. He couldn't dredge up much hope of either, but...it would be nice. Sometimes his life felt very empty. He felt as if his future was on hold until something happened one way or the other with Voldemort. He rarely allowed himself to think about the final outcome between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord, much less hope for any kind of happy ending. Those only existed in fairy tales, and fools who believed in fairy tales were doomed to disappointment.

Snape was jarred from his thoughts by a breathless Madam Pomfrey, who was running down the hall after him.

"Severus! Oh dear, I was afraid I'd miss you," she panted as she caught up to him. "I wonder if I might have a word? We really should discuss our plan to split some of the Healer training away from the rest of the NEWT Potions classes. The term has flown by so quickly!" She patted straying strands of hair back into place beneath her cap and smiled at him pleasantly.

Snape sighed inwardly. While he had nothing against Poppy Pomfrey, he had been hoping to speak with Professor Lovejoy in an attempt to resolve some of the turmoil he was experiencing. Well, he mused, it wasn't like she was going anywhere. He would just have to wait.


	8. Theories of Relativity

CHAPTER 8

Theories of Relativity

Harry and Ron walked with Hermione as far as the library, where she intended to spend the time before dinner studying.

"How about a game of wizard chess before dinner, Harry?" asked Ron. Harry shook his head.

"Can't. Professor Lovejoy wants me."

"Yeah," snorted Ron. "In your dreams." Harry flushed and swatted at him.

"No, you idiot. She wants to talk to me about something." He hesitated, not sure how much to say, and decided to wait until later to tell Ron about it--when there was more to tell. "See you at dinner?"

"Okay, then," said Ron, and he wandered off toward Gryffindor common room. Harry continued up to Professor Lovejoy's office, eager to learn what it was that she knew about him.

He knocked on her office door, which stood ajar. She bade him enter in a cheerful voice, and he pushed the door open further. The office, like the classroom, had had all signs of its former occupant thoroughly erased. Harry relaxed a little. It was a pleasant place to be on a stormy afternoon--a small, crackling fire in the fireplace, a vase of fresh flowers on the mantelpiece, an ancient, somewhat dilapidated velvet armchair and sofa, and a thick, plushy carpet that certainly had not been there during the tenure of any of the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers Harry had known. It was comfortable but not ostentatious.

Professor Lovejoy sat behind her desk correcting essays. Harry was surprised to see her wearing a pair of spectacles perched on the end of her nose. He hadn't seen any sign of them in class. She waved him over to the sofa.

"Please, have a seat. I'll be done here in two shakes. Just...there! Good." She wrote a grade at the top of the last essay, then laid her quill aside and waved her wand over the parchment, causing it to roll up with a snap. She removed her spectacles and put them in her desk drawer, then came around to sit in the armchair.

"Quite cozy, isn't it?" she said, watching Harry sink comfortably into the depths of the sofa. "You wouldn't believe the awful stuff the last teacher had in here. Not a comfortable chair in the lot." She tucked her legs under her and propped an elbow on an arm of the chair. She gazed at Harry for a moment, a wistful look on her face. Then she laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to join in. Harry relaxed a bit.

"Oh! Dear me," said Professor Lovejoy with an embarrassed chuckle. "I suppose you're wondering what I wanted to see you about." Her face became quite grave.

"Tell me, Harry. What do you know about your family--your mother's family?" she asked. Harry was puzzled. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this.

"My mother's family?" he repeated. Professor Lovejoy nodded encouragingly. He shrugged. "Well, she has a sister. Petunia Dursley. That's who I live with," he said flatly, "my aunt and uncle and cousin. They're Muggles. My mother's parents are still alive, Martha and Edward Evans. They're Muggles, too." He paused. "That's it, I guess. What else do you want to know?"

Professor Lovejoy was staring into the distance. "So Father was right," she said to herself. "She never told them." Harry sat silently, mystified.

"Sorry, Harry," she said. "I suppose I should have expected this. Well--what would you say if I told you they weren't the only family you have?" She sat back, watching him with the air of one who has just pulled the proverbial rabbit out of the hat. Harry just stared at her. At last he spoke.

"Do you mean--Sirius Black?" he asked faintly.

Professor Lovejoy shook her head, smiling. "No, not Sirius--although I understand he was just like family to your parents. I was so sorry when I learned he was gone, Harry. But no--I'm not talking about Sirius. I'm talking about me."

Harry looked at her inquiringly, not understanding.

"You?" he asked blankly.

"Yes, Harry. I am your aunt. Well--half-aunt, really, I suppose, to be precise. I am Lily and Petunia's half-sister. We have the same father."

"Grandfather Evans?" Harry asked. "He's your father?"

"Oh my, no," said Professor Lovejoy. "Actually he isn't Lily or Petunia's father, either, except on paper. He adopted them when they were tiny," she explained. "He and their mother never let on that he wasn't their real father. That was the way she wanted it, you see. Father says she had too much pride to stand having everyone know he, her first husband, had left her. My father is Archibald Lovejoy. He's Lily and Petunia's real father, and Martha's first husband." She paused for a moment to let Harry absorb this new knowledge, then continued.

"Martha is a Muggle through and through, but you see, she'd always been fascinated with magic. I shouldn't wonder if there wasn't a witch or wizard somewhere back in her family tree," she mused. "Still, she has no magical ability at all, herself. She met my father quite by accident one day outside the Leaky Cauldron. She was wearing extremely high heels. One of them caught in a grate, and she had a bad fall.

"Father was just coming out of the Leaky Cauldron and he helped her up. Her knee was bleeding quite badly. He was hesitant to take a Muggle into the Leaky Cauldron, but there wasn't much else he could do--he couldn't just leave her injured on the sidewalk. So he carried her inside and got Tom's wife to patch up her knee. Martha was thrilled when she realized the inn was a gathering spot for witches and wizards. It was like a dream come true for her.

"Anyway, Father was rather taken with her, and they began--well--courting, I suppose you'd say. He liked that he could be himself with Martha and not have to hide his magic from her, and she was full of admiration for everything he accomplished by magical means. I don't know that there was really ever much more to their attraction than that, but they didn't realize it until it was too late.

"They got married and had Petunia before a year was out, and Lily barely a year after that. Petunia never showed any signs of magical ability, but your mother did from the time she was very small. Your grandmother was delighted, of course--it was rather like having a new toy to play with, I should think. While she was the only child, Petunia got all her mother's attention; but Father felt she became somewhat neglected--the old, cast-off toy, if you will--after your mother's abilities became obvious."

Harry nodded with sudden insight. "I suppose that explains a lot about Aunt Petunia," he said thoughtfully. Professor Lovejoy smiled gently at him.

"Exactly, Harry. There was definitely a lot of favoritism shown to your mother," she said. "Something else was bothering Father, too: Martha's jealousy over his magic. She was all Muggle, not a spot of magic in her. But she had a very difficult time accepting that it would always be that way. She drove Father to distraction, asking him to teach her this spell or that charm, or begging for a wand for her birthday. He tried telling her that in Muggle hands a wand would be nothing more than a useless stick of wood, but she insisted. And was mad with disappointment when she inevitably had to accept defeat.

"Finally, Father felt he had no choice but to leave her. They went through an actual Muggle divorce, so Martha could remarry if she chose. Father left Lily and Petunia with their mother, for the simple reason that she threatened to expose him as a wizard if he took them. She met Edward Evans soon afterward; they married and moved away from London to a small town in Surrey, and she imposed the further condition that Father never contact the girls again. Martha intended them to know only Edward as their father. Father wasn't happy about it, but he felt he had no choice. He probably could have performed a Memory charm on Martha so she would remember nothing, but...he chose not to."

She fell silent and watched Harry as he stared into the fire. He transferred his gaze to her and looked intently into her eyes. She met his look quizzically.

"I don't see much resemblance," he said finally. She laughed.

"Nor do I. But then, Lily and Petunia didn't share much family resemblance either."

"So where did you come from, then?" Harry blurted, and immediately felt like an idiot. "I mean--who--"

Professor Lovejoy was laughing outright now. "I know what you mean," she chuckled. "A few years after Father left Martha he met a very nice witch by the name of Merryweather Windham and married her, and in due course," she grinned at him, "along came little Trillium. You may have noticed my father's fondness for flower names--Petunia, Lily, Trillium. A bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but I like it."

"There's a girl in Slytherin named Pansy," Harry volunteered. "Pansy Parkinson. But I've never met anyone who reminds me less of a flower." Professor Lovejoy, envisioning Pansy's unlovely pug-face, appeared to choke on something, but recovered quickly, her hand over her mouth.

"Ah, yes. I've met Miss Parkinson. I know just what you mean." They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"So how come you know all this if your dad was supposed to keep it quiet?" Harry asked.

"Well, you see, keeping the secret from his own family was never one of the conditions," she answered. "Martha's decision to have everyone think Edward was the girls' father was her own idea. Father never did speak to either of them again, as she wished, but when he married Mother, he told her everything. And when I was old enough, they told me. Father is a very straightforward person. He detests lies. I think you'd like him, Harry. _He_ is your real grandfather, you know. He hopes to meet you someday. I'm afraid his only other grandchild is--ahem--rather a disappointment to him." Her eyes twinkled. "If you know what I mean." Harry, realizing she had to be talking about his cousin Dudley, knew exactly what she meant.

"Has he met Dudley, then?" he asked.

"Oh, no--he's kept his part of the bargain even after all this time," Professor Lovejoy replied. "To tell you the truth, after keeping an eye on your aunt and uncle all these years I don't think he has any great enthusiasm for meeting them."

"So if he's supposed to keep all this quiet," persisted Harry, "why are you telling me? Won't Grandmother Evans be angry?"

Professor Lovejoy smiled. "Well, first of all, Harry, she won't know that you know unless you tell her. And then there's the fact that Father hasn't let the secret out--I have. _I_ never made any promises."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Me? I'm not even allowed to visit my grandparents. I've only ever seen them once, when they stopped in to surprise Aunt Petunia on her birthday one year. When she realized who it was, she hustled me into my cup--er, my room--and told me I'd be in huge trouble if I made any noise. Whenever Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon visit my grandparents they leave me with our neighbor, Mrs. Figg. It's funny--I just last year found out she's a Squib," he said, referring to the term for non-magic people born into wizarding families. "I suppose they didn't want my grandparents to know I exist, or something," he said bitterly.

Professor Lovejoy's lips tightened. "Oh, they know you exist, Harry," she said. "Remember, Lily was their favorite. And they were very fond of James as well. Your arrival was a cause for celebration indeed. No," she said, "I rather suspect their keeping you out of your grandparents' way has more to do with Petunia's jealousy of Lily as the favorite than anything else. Petunia probably assumed--quite rightly, I would say, knowing what little I do about your cousin Dudley--that the favoritism would carry over to you when your mother died. Your grandparents are quite well-to-do, you know. I'm sure that has a lot to do with Petunia's motives, too. She's looking out for her son. Probably she thinks that with your grandparents and you it's a case of 'out of sight, out of mind'."

She got up and stretched her legs. "Well, that's it, Harry--the big secret. I'm your Aunt Trillium, and you have a grandfather and step-grandmother who are very proud of you. So am I, for that matter. You've been through so much, Harry, without much support from anyone. I sometimes think it's a miracle that you're here at all."

"I have my friends," Harry said quickly. "Ron and Hermione. And Dumbledore."

"Well, I'm glad of that," said Professor Lovejoy. "I do wish you were able to count on your family, though."

"What made you tell me all this now?" Harry asked. "I mean--why now, specifically? I've been in the wizarding world--at Hogwarts, anyway--for five years."

"Yes, I know," said Professor Lovejoy regretfully. "It's unfortunate that I was--away--for so long. Working for the Ministry," she added, seeing Harry's inquiring look.

"Oh. Right. You're an Auror," he remembered.

"Well, I was. I've been a lot of things. Auror, translator, special emissary, whatever I was needed for."

"Special emissary?" asked Harry. "What's that?"

"Well, I can't go into great detail, really," she said. "Suffice to say that I did a lot of undercover work. And the Ministry are trying to keep track of the Dark Lord's activities...well, perhaps you can put two and two together and get a general idea of what I've been up to. Never boring, I do assure you!"

"Wait a minute. Voldemort--you were spying on him? Undercover? Were you pretending to be a Death Eater?" Harry breathed. Professor Lovejoy looked startled.

"Why--good heavens, Harry! What an imagination you have," she said brightly. "It's best if we don't discuss it any further, I think. But do you have any questions about anything else I've told you?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. It's all so amazing. I'd no idea we were related. It's kind of nice. Take some getting used to, I guess." A sudden thought struck him. "Is it okay for the others to know we're related? I mean, should I keep it a secret?"

Professor Lovejoy took a deep breath. "Actually, Harry, Professor Dumbledore thinks it best that as many people know about it as possible. Tell anyone you wish." The ghost of a grin touched her mouth for a moment. "Don't think I'll go any easier on you in class because of it. No family favoritism, you understand." She grew serious again.

"All joking aside, Dumbledore thinks that if the Dark Lord finds out about us being related, especially knowing I've been working as an Auror, he might try to eliminate me at some point, and that might give us a chance to lead him away from you for a bit, you see? Perhaps find a way to destroy him. I agreed because I've spent the last few years dedicated to that very purpose, Harry. It's not just because of your being in danger from him, nephew or not. I simply feel very strongly that good must triumph over evil. I want to do this. I need to do it. For you--for Lily--for all our sakes." She fell silent.

Harry stirred from the depths of the sofa and struggled to his feet. "Well, I like the idea of having a family. A _real_ family," he amended.

"I'm glad, Harry. I do hope you'll think of me if you need help or even if you just want to talk."

"Thanks." Harry grinned at her. "I think we'd better go down to dinner before we miss it," he said. As they stood up and approached the open office door there was a faint rustling noise out in the classroom, and the sound of a chair scraping on the floor.

"Hello?" Professor Lovejoy called, walking out onto the balcony. "Hmm. That's odd." She looked out over the empty room. A chair at the back, near the door, sat askew as if someone had got up in a hurry. A faint frown appeared between her eyebrows.

"It appears we had an eavesdropper," she said. Harry looked at her. She shrugged. "Well, I suppose it can't hurt anything. After all, Dumbledore does want people to know about this. Still," she said as they went out into the corridor, "I don't like the idea of someone sneaking about and spying. I shall have to see about warding my classroom, it seems. Now, Harry--last one to the Great Hall is a blast-ended skrewt!" She picked up the hem of her robe and started to run. Her cry of "Come on, Harry!" echoed behind her. Harry, suddenly experiencing an insane desire to giggle, raced to catch up.

Neither of them noticed their eavesdropper, hidden behind an enormous suit of armor just beyond the classroom. As soon as Harry and Professor Lovejoy were out of sight he tottered off in the opposite direction, still gripped by severe shock at the conversation he had overheard.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape thought Madam Pomfrey would never leave. Of all the times for her to want to talk to him about lesson plans, now was the moment he would have least chosen. He wondered at his own impatience to see Professor Lovejoy again. At first he tried to excuse it as a mere wish to have his curiosity satisfied. He really did want some answers from her. But then his innate honesty won out and he grudgingly admitted the possibility that he might be more interested in pursuing other aspects of their relationship--if one could call it that--than merely having an academic discussion about...what? Why she seemed to be chasing him? Why she annoyed him so much? Why he wanted to see her at all?

Blast. He did want to see her. But even thinking of pursuing a relationship with her--a romance, dare he say it--had him wondering for the hundredth time if she was merely toying with him for the fun of it. Was she the cat, and he her little catnip toy? He wanted it to not be true, but years of caution and paranoia were not easily overcome. He had an uneasy feeling that he would have to sacrifice some of his closely-held inhibitions were he to become closer to Trillium Lovejoy. He wasn't at all sure he was ready for that.

Madam Pomfrey wondered more than once where Snape's mind had wandered to that afternoon. He agreed almost absently with several parts of her plan that she had anticipated would be difficult and cause some argument from him, even outright disapproval. His easily-won agreement was a sign that his mind was elsewhere. Finally she gave up and, shaking her head and tsking to herself, she left, telling him they could discuss their plan later. She thought it quite likely she would have to begin again from the start, as she wasn't sure he'd really heard a word she had said.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey had gone, Snape started off once again toward Professor Lovejoy's office. He would wait no longer--he must speak to her. He wasn't quite clear in his mind about just what good this would do, but _not_ speaking to her was making his mind run in circles. He was tired of the unsettled feeling he had most of the time lately. It made concentrating on anything for very long difficult, and he was afraid the students were beginning to notice his preoccupation. He knew the faculty had, although for the most part they were respectful enough either of his feelings or his temper to not mention it.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was open, so he walked in. It was lit only by a single branch of candles on Professor Lovejoy's desk at the front. He saw firelight dancing on the open door of her office and started in that direction, but he heard her chuckle warmly and stopped short. Apparently she was not alone.

"Tell me, Harry. What do you know about your family--about your mother's family?" she was asking.

Snape realized she had Potter in her office. Curious as to why she was asking Harry about his family, Snape lingered in the darkened classroom. In his present state he had no qualms about eavesdropping; if Trillium Lovejoy was speaking, he wanted to listen.

A moment later he was regretting that impulse.

She was Harry's aunt? She was _related to Harry Potter_? Snape was dumfounded. He felt so many things at once that he would have been hard put to it to name any single emotion. Disappointment was far too pale a word. Revulsion pretty much topped the list. Betrayal came in a close second. He knew it had been a mistake to hope for any kind of relationship with her. Here he'd been wandering round in a fog for nearly a month--over a woman who was related to the one person with whom Snape could barely tolerate existence on the same planet. His own words about fools and fairy tales haunted him.

He sank into a chair and listened to the rest of the conversation; he couldn't help himself. Like picking at a half-healed scab, he knew it would hurt but was nevertheless unable to let it go.

When he suddenly realized Harry and Professor Lovejoy were coming toward the office door, he leaped out of the chair and knocked it sideways in his haste to be gone, careless of the noise he made, and bolted from the room. There wasn't time to reach the main staircase before Harry and Professor Lovejoy came out of the classroom unless he ran, and he refused to be caught in an undignified headlong rush down the corridor in full view of any chance onlookers. A suit of armor stood conveniently placed a few feet down the corridor and he hurried round the far side of it, twitching the edges of his robe out of sight.

Snape could hardly believe his eyes when Professor Lovejoy challenged Harry to a race down the corridor and took off running. Preposterous! Had she no sense of propriety? Thoroughly disgruntled, he waited until both she and Harry were out of sight before stepping out from his place of concealment and walking unsteadily in the opposite direction.

If he had been distracted before, it was nothing to the way he felt now.


	9. Confessions

CHAPTER 9

Confessions

The first snowfall of the year arrived, and with it the first Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione planned to do some of her Christmas shopping in the wizarding village this year and could be seen making furtive notations in a small notebook whenever a gift idea occurred to her.

Ron was rather glum about the prospect of going to town as he was currently without pocket money. Harry, searching for a solution that wouldn't offend Ron's pride, pestered him until he agreed to sell his wizard chess game for the handsome price of twenty Galleons. Then, happily unaware of Harry's ulterior motive, Ron, too, began to get into the spirit of the outing.

Harry traditionally exchanged gifts with Ron and Hermione at Christmas, but never with the Dursleys. He was rather looking forward to seeing round the Hogsmeade shops for a change this year, thinking he might buy something for Professor Lovejoy. He still couldn't quite get used to the idea of calling her Aunt Trillium, but she had laughed and said that at least during school, while he was her student, it was probably as well to call her Professor Lovejoy, thus avoiding any appearance of favoritism.

On Saturday morning Mr Filch stood by the main entrance of the castle checking off permission slips as the students filed out. Only third year students and above, with slips properly signed by a parent or guardian, were allowed to leave the school. Harry had been prevented from going to Hogsmeade during his third year for the simple reason that Uncle Vernon refused, purely out of spite, to sign a permission slip. Harry had appealed to Professor McGonagall as his Head of House, but she was unable to countermand the school's strict policy, despite her sympathy with Harry's situation. After he had gotten to know his godfather, Sirius Black--the friend who Harry's parents had originally intended as his guardian should anything happen to them--Sirius had signed for Harry in his fourth and fifth years. This year he had cadged a signature out of Uncle Vernon during a rare moment when he was preoccupied with something else and not paying attention.

Snape, crossing the entrance hall, saw Professor Lovejoy approach from the opposite direction and stop to wave merrily to the last few students as they left. His footsteps slowed. She turned with a smile still on her face and saw him.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, coming over to where he stood. "Not going to Hogsmeade today? No Christmas shopping to do?"

"No," Snape replied shortly. "And you--have you no friends to meet, no--" he waggled his fingers at her-- "fripperies to buy?" He casually plucked at an invisible piece of lint on his robe.

"Oh--no," she said. "I'm rather looking forward to having a day to myself. No essays to grade, no errands to run--no obligations at all, really." She looked fixedly at him. "In fact," she continued, "I have the whole day free. What about you? I suppose you have lots to do."

"Well, I--not really--er, I mean, yes. There are the potions from this week to test and grade. And I should catch up on my, er, reading." His reading? he thought. Where had _that_ come from?

"Ah. I see. Well, then, I'd better let you get to it," Professor Lovejoy said brightly. "So you'll...be in your office all day?"

"Yes. My office. Right," said Snape. He thought of her office, with its inviting chairs and a fire that, not being in the dungeons as his was, actually warmed the room. "And you?" he inquired stiffly, wondering how to break off this ghastly, stilted conversation. "You'll be in your office also, I presume?"

"Oh yes. All afternoon," she confirmed. "Well, see you at dinner then, I suppose."

"Dinner, yes. Presumably so," Snape said inanely. They nodded to each other and continued on their respective ways, Snape toward the dungeon stairway and Professor Lovejoy up the main staircase to her office.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy started a fire in her fireplace with a flick of her wand. Then she went to her desk and opened a small package that had arrived two days ago by owl post. It was a new book she had saved as a special treat for today, called _Rise and Fall of the Pendragon: A Personal Account_. Written by a minor courtier in King Arthur's court, the manuscript had only recently been rescued from an enchantment hiding it from mortal eyes; and the enterprising witch who had accomplished this feat had published it. It was reportedly full of deliciously wicked royal gossip and scandals from the days of Arthur's court--in other words, it was purely frivolous and not the least bit educational. She sighed contentedly and sank onto the sofa, kicked off her boots, and tucked her feet beneath her in her favorite lounging position. She spared a thought for Snape--what was he doing right now, all alone in his dungeon? Then she happily gave herself up to her book.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape surveyed his desk, where a dozen vials of that week's assigned potion were neatly lined up awaiting testing and grading. He didn't want to test or grade. He felt restless, but he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't have a hobby; he didn't feel like reading. He wanted...human companionship. And not just any human.

Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he turned around and walked back out of his office and up to the main hall. No one was about. He continued on up the main staircase and down the corridor to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Bright light reflecting off the snow lightened the side of the room by the windows, but the rest was in shadow. Firelight shone from the office doorway above.

Snape paused for a brief moment, then swept to the front of the room and up the short flight of stairs. He halted abruptly just inside the office door. Professor Lovejoy looked up from her book, startled by his unceremonious entry.

The moment stretched out, frozen in time. Snape gazed at her lovely face, lit by the fire, her warm eyes questioning. She looked at him and saw a face pinched with the pain of uncertainty, eyes with the fire of hope still faintly burning, all but extinguished.

Finally, Snape blurted, "You--are Harry Potter's aunt?" He couldn't help himself. It wasn't what he had intended to say at all.

Professor Lovejoy smiled faintly. "Ah. So you were our eavesdropper." She patted the sofa invitingly. "Well, now that you're here, won't you sit down?"

"I--no," he replied. "Thank you," he added belatedly. "I must speak with you. There is so much--I need--" He broke off in frustration, not knowing where to start. Professor Lovejoy decided to rescue him.

"You are unclear in your mind about something, is that it?" she asked. Snape gazed at her a moment, then jerked his head in an annoyed nod.

"And it has to do with Harry?" she prompted.

Snape paced back and forth in the small space before the desk. He shook his head repeatedly as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant thought. If his face was any indication, his mind was in some agony. Finally he stopped pacing and faced her.

"How can you?" he demanded. "How can you be related to that--that--" Words failed him. He pounded the back of the armchair in frustration.

Professor Lovejoy put her book down on a small table. "That what?" she asked. She sounded curious, not judgmental as Snape would have expected.

"Potter," he spat. "That insufferable, egotistical, arrogant brat. It can't be. It simply can't be. Are you absolutely certain of this?"

Professor Lovejoy regarded him with troubled eyes.

"Yes, absolutely," she assured him. "I've known Lily was my sister ever since I was old enough to understand when my father explained the whole story to me. Why does this distress you so much, Severus?

"And why do you call Harry egotistical and arrogant? I must say I've never seen any sign of either of those traits in him. He can't help being who he is, you know. I suppose knowing of Lord Voldemort's interest in him--if you want to call it that--might give him a certain sense of being set apart from other people at times, but certainly not in a good way. He is very well liked, as anyone can see, but Severus, he is a likeable person. He's loyal to his friends and to Dumbledore. He never invites praise, nor does he revel in it. Well, I suppose he might--just a little, and justifiably--when his team wins a Quidditch match or something like that.

"But think of his life, Severus. Living with those dreadful Muggles. They shut him away in a cupboard! He lived in a cupboard beneath their front stairs for the first ten years of his life. From what Arthur Weasley says, they never give him a kind word--in fact his uncle was more or less using Harry as unpaid slave labor all last summer. Is it to be wondered at that Harry should enjoy a taste of normal life, and having friends and people who love him?"

Snape stared in astonishment at her impassioned defense of Harry. She looked a bit surprised herself and stared back, eyes flashing, bosom heaving. His feet started toward her of their own accord. Intent on what he was doing, he almost missed her next question.

"Why do you dislike Harry so much, Severus? There must be some reason. What is there between you that causes you to have such strong feelings toward him?"

The question brought him up short. He didn't answer, just continued to look at her with those tormented eyes. Finding himself in front of the armchair, he dropped into it, his legs shaking with some strong emotion he couldn't name.

Professor Lovejoy said, "You know, Severus, I was several years behind you at Hogwarts. By the time I got here you'd been gone for five or six years--you and Lily and James--but the stories about all of you were still alive and well." Snape's eyes flew to her face. She nodded, eyebrows raised delicately.

"Yes, I thought that would get your attention," she said. "I lived to hear those stories. They were the only way I had of finding out anything about Lily's life, you see. I heard a lot of things about her and James that I liked. In many ways she seemed like she could have been the ideal older sister. But I also heard things that weren't so nice about James and his select little group of friends. Even about Lily. And you, Severus."

Snape looked away. He couldn't bear to see the compassion in her eyes.

"I believe there are two opposing sides to every person," she said. "Or to most people, anyway. When there is only one side, a person ends up like Voldemort--or as a saint, I suppose. In James' case I don't think his better side came out until Lily became indisputably his. It's like he needed her influence to become a better person. I understand that most of the time he was at Hogwarts James was an 'insufferable, egotistical, arrogant brat'." She smiled faintly as she repeated Snape's words back to him. "I also understand that you in particular were very ill-used by him."

Snape didn't say anything. His eyes were on the fire, but she could see that his gaze had turned inward and he was looking back over the years to his miserable youth.

"You were in love with Lily, weren't you?" Professor Lovejoy asked. Snape looked at her, his anguish at having to relive the emotions of the past evident. He opened his mouth, but said nothing.

"And James got her. James, who already had everything--parents who loved him, talent at games, friends, top marks in school. And then he got Lily, too. Arrogant, egotistical James." She leaned forward. "Not Harry, Severus. _James_." She stopped, waited.

"Yes," he said at last, bitterly. "I did love her. I would have done anything for her. But she never noticed me, never even saw me. She never saw anyone but him. And he never appreciated her true worth. Everything came to him so easily. Including--Lily." He said her name in a choked voice.

"And then he went and got her killed. Messing about with the Order of the Phoenix, playing at being Aurors. She had no business getting involved with that lot. I suppose Potter thought he could just snap his fingers and deliver up the Dark Lord to the Ministry, the way everything else was so easy for him. And look where it got them. Dead. For nothing! The Dark Lord still lives. She's gone. She sacrificed her life, and for what? _For what_?" he demanded.

"For love, of course, Severus. When all is said and done, love is the most powerful magic that exists. It's the only reason Harry survived. Lily's love shielded him from Voldemort's curse."

Snape's gaze flicked back to the fire. He shook his head, unwilling to be convinced. He had held on to the old grudge for so long that it seemed a part of him. Must he give that up as well? Professor Lovejoy watched him struggle. She knew what it was to give up long-held ideals. Part of her felt sorry for him, but part of her wanted to shake him out of his melancholy. Something of this must have shown in her eyes, and when Snape looked at her, he tensed warily.

"I heard a very interesting story recently," Professor Lovejoy said casually. "About a certain Quidditch match in Harry's first year. Something about you...saving his life?"

There was an indignant snort from the armchair. "I would have done the same for any student," Snape said stiffly. "I knew there was something wrong with Quirrell. It was too much of a coincidence that Potter happened to fall off his broomstick at the precise moment when Quirrell started chanting. It was my duty _as a teacher_," he stressed, "to look after the welfare of a student in trouble."

Professor Lovejoy gazed at him in amusement. What a very stubborn man you are, she thought. Duty, indeed. Aloud she said, "Harry is a good boy, Severus. A good person. He's not his father. He tries very hard to do the right thing. You really can't see that?"

Snape shrugged. He had no desire to be tricked into saying something he'd regret later.

"And he tries so hard to please you," she went on, laughing at his openly disbelieving look. "Oh yes, he does," she said. "I've heard him studying with Ron in the library. Harry's determined to do well in your class in spite of your opinion of him."

"He's determined to best me, you mean," Snape muttered. "Potter detests me, you know." He seemed to feel that this justified his own attitude toward Harry.

"You are a teacher, Severus. Harry is your student. Why do you see his doing well in your class as a contest to be won or lost? If he does poorly, I should think you both have lost," said Professor Lovejoy in exasperation. "You're acting as if he's some sort of rival or something. But he's not, is he? What exactly is it about Harry that puts you on the defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive," Snape countered, stung.

"But you are. Don't you see?" She thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Do you remember the first time you met Harry?" Snape rolled his eyes and didn't answer. "Humor me, Severus," she said impatiently. "When was it?"

He sighed heavily. "At the welcome feast, I suppose."

"His first year?"

"Yes."

"Well, did Harry do something in particular to earn your dislike at the feast?" Professor Lovejoy prodded.

Snape sulked, resentful. "No."

"When did you see him after that?"

"In my classroom the next day."

"And? Come on, Severus, talk to me. Was he cheeky in class or something?"

Goaded into replying, Snape had to admit Harry had not, in fact, done anything he could specifically recall that was out of the ordinary.

"You know what I think?" Professor Lovejoy said.

Snape gave her a look. "No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," he said sarcastically.

"I think from the first moment you looked at Harry, you saw James," she said. "I've seen pictures of James when he was Harry's age, and there's a striking resemblance. And I think seeing him brought back all those old, miserable memories you'd been trying to forget for so long. But Harry's done nothing wrong, Severus--you've said so yourself. Don't you think it's time you saw him as just himself and stop hating him? He's done nothing to deserve your hatred, after all."

"He shows me no respect," Snape muttered.

"Well, consider it from Harry's point of view. For goodness' sake, Severus--ever since he met you you've shown that you hate him. What kind of reaction did you expect?

Snape said something inaudible.

"What?" she said.

"I said," he repeated more clearly, "he spied on my thoughts--in my Pensieve, when I was attempting to teach him Occlumency last year."

Professor Lovejoy shook her head, not entirely understanding. "Well, I suppose he might have hoped to find some clue as to what makes you tick--or why you dislike him so. What did he see?"

Snape was not about to reveal the deep humiliation he had experienced at the hands of Harry's father on the occasion in question.

"Suffice to say it was not a pleasant memory," he muttered.

"Was James involved?"

Tersely, "Yes."

"And some of his friends?"

"Yes."

"And...Lily?"

"Afraid so."

"Ah. I see." Actually, Snape hoped she didn't see and never would. It had been bad enough having Harry view Snape's memory of his humiliation at the hands of James Potter without having Trillium Lovejoy know all the gory details as well.

They sat quietly by the fire for a time, absorbed in their own thoughts. After a while, Professor Lovejoy chuckled. She rose and reached for the poker, toying with the logs in the fire.

"What?" Snape asked lazily. He felt more at ease than he had for weeks. Maybe there was something to confession after all.

"You surprised me when you came charging in here," she said. "I'd hoped you would come, but not to talk about Harry."

Snape looked over at her. "Oh?"

"I rather thought you might be interested in exploring..._our_ relationship," she said, and met his eyes squarely. "Perhaps beginning with where we left off that day at the lake." Snape simply watched her. She colored under his steady gaze. "Unless, of course, you'd rather forget it happened." When he still said nothing, she dropped her gaze and turned back to the fireplace. Obviously it had been a mistake to bring it up in the first place. Maybe he just wasn't interested.

A warm touch on her shoulder surprised her. She hadn't heard him get up. Snape turned her to face him. There was a look on his face she had never thought to see there. Could it be tenderness? And he was smiling.

"Trillium," he said gently. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since that day. Not once. I tried to remind myself what an infernal pest you are--" she shook with silent laughter-- "but all I could think about was the feel of you in my arms, and I had to find out if I'd just imagined it all." He touched her face gently. "But this seems...familiar." He kissed her softly. "And this."

Professor Lovejoy breathed his name and put her arms around his neck. "Again," she whispered. He obliged her.

They stood there for a long time, tightly entwined, reluctant to break contact and let the world intrude on this fragile new thing between them.

Finally, prosaically, they had to come up for air. But their eyes couldn't get enough of each other. Fingertips touched wondering faces and were kissed in their turn.

Snape murmured, "What is happening to me?"

Professor Lovejoy laid her head on his chest. "I think that ice you've kept round your heart so carefully is thawing." She felt him stiffen and lifted her head to look at him. Some of the chill had returned to his face. "What is it?"

Snape made as if to pull away, but she wouldn't let him go. "No. Stay right here and tell me what's wrong. Don't run away again."

He said, "That 'ice,' as you call it, is there for a very good reason. It's there to remind me that no matter how much I may want this--want _you_--I can't have you. I'm not the sort of man who has friends. Or loved ones." A look of pain crossed his face as he said it. "I made my choice long ago. It was a poor one, and I shall have to pay for it eventually. But I'm damned if I'll drag you down with me."

He pulled her arms from around him and held both of her hands for a moment, then kissed each of them and let her go. She felt bereft. She could see him rebuilding the layers of coldness right before her eyes.

"I shouldn't have come," he said quietly, and turned toward the door.

"Severus!"

He was angry with himself for wanting her so badly, but her cry wrung his heart and he stopped in his tracks, his back to her, not saying anything.

"Severus, don't you trust me?" she whispered. He turned. Shocked, he saw that tears were rolling down the cheeks he had stroked only moments before. _He_ had done this to her.

"Trust you?" he repeated. "Why do you ask me that?"

"I think you don't trust me to stand by you," she said. "Or to know my own mind, perhaps. Well, I do. I know what I feel for you, Severus. Shall I tell you?"

"Please don't," he said through gritted teeth.

"It's love. I love you, Severus. And I--I think you love me. Why can't you just let it happen?"

"Oh, for--" he said, taking out his anger at himself on her. He pulled back the sleeve of his robe and peeled back the cuff of the black sweater he wore beneath. Marching back over to her, he shoved his wrist in front of her face.

"There!" he cried. "That is why I can't just 'let it happen'."

Professor Lovejoy's eyes were drawn to an odd purple mark on his wrist. Then she realized she was seeing it upside down, and she knew what it was. Her eyes flew to his.

"The Dark Mark," she breathed. Snape jerked his cuff back down, scowling.

"That is why nothing can happen between us," he said bitterly. "I suppose you could say I'm...not exactly a free man. Someday he will come looking for me. Me and a few others, I expect. Rounding up his strays. He knows I've betrayed him. When he finds me he'll be able to see everything in my mind and in my heart." His face turned tender for just a moment. "I'll not have him find you there, Trillium. He would delight in torturing you to punish me before he killed us both. If I gave in to love, I'd never be able to protect you from him. It's not you I don't trust, Trillium. It's me. There is no way to guard against the Dark Lord's probing except to keep you out of my heart." He looked forlorn. "I fear I may already be too late."

Professor Lovejoy knew the anguish in his eyes was mirrored in her own. "I know it's too late for me," she said.

Snape shook his head. "Then we must both try harder," he said. He turned, and this time he left.

She waited until she had heard him walk across the classroom and close the door behind him before collapsing onto the old sofa and giving in to a good bout of tears. She thought her heart might be breaking.

Snape knew his was.


	10. To Catch a Death Eater

CHAPTER 10

To Catch a Death Eater

That January would go down in Muggle history as one of the snowiest ever seen in England, even as far north as Hogwarts. Many of the teachers were heard to say it was a good thing the school did not rely on electricity, as the Muggle world did. All that was required was a plentiful supply of candles and wood to keep the castle light and, if not exactly warm, at least warmer than outdoors.

Hagrid could frequently be seen hauling large trees out of the forest, and the ring of his axe was heard whenever he could spare time to chop wood, day or night. Firenze, permanently ostracized from the centaur group living in the Forbidden Forest, often helped with this task. They burned the smaller branches full of pitchy needles in an ongoing bonfire outside Hagrid's hut; the two bizarre figures chopping and heaving chunks of wood made weird shadows against the background of flames at night.

Since by now the snow had reached a depth of nearly four feet out in the open and was considerably deeper in some of the drifts, Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures classes had moved temporarily to an unused classroom on the first floor. After an unfortunate incident involving fire lizards and a valuable tapestry that had hung in that room since the castle was built, Dumbledore had prevailed upon Hagrid to teach from books until conditions outdoors should improve.

Harry's term project in Potions had turned out well, much to his surprise. Snape had assigned him the anti-aging potion Vigoro. It was very tricky and required a number of rare and expensive ingredients, which Snape guarded jealously, so Harry had redoubled his efforts to research the potion carefully before attempting to make it himself. He had turned in the requisite six feet of parchment and presented Snape with a neatly labeled vial of completed Vigoro that he was sure was perfect.

Snape had sneered, "How many times did you have to start over with this one, Potter?" But he had given Harry one of the top marks in the class. It wasn't quite 100, but when Harry inquired as to why, Snape merely snarled, "Penmanship." Harry thought it best to leave it at that.

One very blustery Sunday at breakfast the owl post arrived, dropping off Hermione's usual copy of the _Daily Prophet_. She tucked a coin into the owl's tiny pouch and fed him some bacon to give him an excuse to linger and warm up a bit. Ron glanced at the paper, which was lying with the back page facing up. A small article off to one side caught his eye. He read:

_Muggle Deaths on the Rise_

_Over the past year and a half, Muggles have been disappearing from homes, automobiles, and places of business. The disappearances have increased in frequency in the last few months. Although the cases were at first believed to be unrelated, Muggle law enforcement officers, or "policemen", now believe that many of them may in fact be connected. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, could not be reached for comment. His assistant, Percy Weasley, told this reporter, "We think this may be the work of You-Know-Who. Muggle witnesses have reported seeing flashes of green light in the vicinity of some of the murders, which is the signature mark of the worst of the Unforgivable Curses." Weasley declined to comment on any possible cooperation between the Ministry of Magic and Muggle law enforcement. Watch this space for further reports._

Ron muttered, "Well, of course he declined to comment. The stupid prat doesn't really know anything, himself. He just likes to talk to reporters--thinks it makes him sound important."

Percy Weasley was something of a disappointment to his family. Oh, he had a good job, right enough--he had by now risen to the post of assistant to the Minister of Magic himself--but he was the worst kind of toady, agreeing with everything his superiors said no matter how self-serving or blind to reality they were.

Harry reached for the paper. "Wonder why they put something like this way at the very back," he said.

Hermione shrugged. "Obviously Fudge is still having trouble dealing with the fact that Voldemort is back," she said. Hermione was the only student other than Harry who had screwed up enough courage to call Voldemort by his proper name. Harry had always done so, having been told by Dumbledore his first year at Hogwarts that "fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

Harry had personally witnessed Voldemort's return to human form and full powers two summers ago, but the Ministry's official position had been that Harry was overwrought by the stress of the Triwizard Tournament, in which he was participating at the time. They foolishly refused to countenance any suggestion that Voldemort was at large once again. Percy had refused right along with them, loudly denouncing his family for their steadfast belief in Harry and even going so far as to leave home over the matter. The resulting estrangement was especially hard on Mr Weasley, who also worked at the Ministry and saw Percy there frequently. Mrs Weasley still got suspiciously moist around the eyes whenever Percy's name was mentioned.

"But after last year, how can Fudge possibly get away with ignoring Voldemort?" asked Harry. There had been a violent confrontation the previous school year, deep in the recesses of the Ministry of Magic itself, between Voldemort's Death Eaters and a group that included Harry, a few other Hogwarts students, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort's followers had come out of it rather the worse for wear, but the event served as a forcible reminder that he was back, more powerful than ever and bent on Harry's destruction. Needless to say, Fudge was finally given no choice but to admit that Voldemort had indeed returned from exile and was once again throwing the wizarding world into chaos. This newspaper article, however, showed that the Minister had no wish to discuss the matter, instead leaving Percy to answer questions as best he could on his own.

"Honestly, Percy'll say anything to suck up," Ron said morosely. "A year ago it was, sorry, Mum and Dad, you're idiots to believe You-Know-Who has returned, and now the wind has changed and it's oh, yes, the Minister says You-know-Who is not only back but he's on a killing spree, murdering Muggles left and right." He shook his head in disgust. "But has he apologized to Mum and Dad? Ha! He has not."

Hermione leaned closer to Ron and he moved the paper closer so she could see the article. "This bit about the green flashes--Harry, didn't you say you had some memory of that from when you were little? When your--your mum was...you know...killed?" She winced as she said it.

"Yeah. It's pretty vague, though. I remember hearing someone scream--my mother, I guess--and then a flash of green light." He snapped his fingers, remembering something else. "And when Voldemort had Cedric killed during the Triwizard Tournament, it happened then, too. One of his Death Eaters used the Killing Curse on Cedric, and there was that same green flash."

"So why are Death Eaters running around all over England killing Muggles?" mused Hermione. "It says here that Scotland Yard--that's the Muggle police--have determined that the murders are connected. Well, at least as far as Death Eaters being responsible for them, I suppose they could be. But what else do they have in common? Anything?"

The three of them sat and pondered. Gradually the Great Hall cleared around them until only a handful of students remained, writing letters or waking up slowly over their morning newspapers.

"I've got it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Rita Skeeter! She can find out for us. She's bound to have sources who know about this sort of thing." She looked pleased to have thought of it.

Harry grunted. "She'd probably make up most of whatever she told you. You can't believe a word she says--it's all exaggeration and lies with her."

"Oh, I don't know. I still have some--influence--over her, you know," Hermione said loftily. She looked smug. Two years previously she had found out that Rita was an unregistered Animagus, and ever since then Hermione had not scrupled to use the leverage this gave her to good advantage.

"Come on, Hermione," said Ron. "How long d'you think Rita's going to let you blackmail her? I mean, what's the worst that would happen if the Ministry found out about her--they'd slap her hand and make her register? Besides, I agree with Harry. You never know how much of what she says is true. That Quick-Quotes Quill of hers makes stuff up as she goes along, I swear it does."

"Well, it's worth a try, at least," Hermione said. "It's not like we can just ask your father, is it?"

Ron sighed. "Nope. Not without him asking about fifty questions--why do we want to know, don't we realize this doesn't concern us, run along and play, kiddies--blah, blah, blah." He yawned widely. "Harry, Quidditch practice is in half an hour. Want to get in a bit of extra flying before everyone else shows up?"

Harry agreed, and he and Ron ambled off to get their cloaks and gloves. Hermione gazed at the newspaper for a moment longer, then rolled it up, stuffed it into her book bag, and headed for the library to work on Herbology homework.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in his office at the Ministry of Magic, feet up on his desk, hands clasped behind his head--a far cry from the professional image he presented to the public. However, today was Sunday and his co-workers were still at home enjoying their weekend leisure.

By coincidence, his thoughts that morning ran along similar lines to those of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Kingsley too was puzzling over the _Daily Prophet_ article even though, being an Auror, he knew more of the story's background than they did. He was very worried, and a more than a little disgusted that none of his Aurors had managed to get anywhere with these Muggle killings. It was proving to be impossible to keep up with the Death Eaters, let alone stay one step ahead of them. They appeared to be amusing themselves at the expense of the entire Auror division--not to mention the dead Muggles--by leaving cryptic clues behind at the murder scenes that only ended up leading the Aurors in circles. There wasn't a scrap of real evidence that could be used against any of the Death Eaters in a wizard court. It was maddening.

Sometimes Kingsley almost--_almost_--wished the Dementors were still under the control of the Ministry (if, indeed, they ever really had been) so the Death Eaters could be rounded up and subjected to the Dementors' "kiss". Nice and clean, and voila! no more Death Eaters. But Voldemort would recruit new followers...and the whole thing was moot anyway while the current Death Eaters were proving so elusive. Make a surprise raid on Malfoy Manor--and lo and behold, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were gone on a second honeymoon somewhere in France. Show up unannounced in the dead of night at Crabbe Castle in the hopes of catching Mssrs. Crabbe and Goyle plotting nefarious deeds--and wasn't it an odd coincidence that they had departed earlier that very day for parts, and reasons, unknown?

The Death Eaters were like wisps of smoke, there one moment and gone the next. Something more than surprise alone obviously would be needed to catch them, Kingsley mused. Some kind of...trap, perhaps? A trap. Ah, now there was an interesting thought. What kind of bait would one use for a Death-Eater trap? he wondered. The obvious answer was Harry Potter, but that was unthinkable. As unscathed as Harry had managed to come through past confrontations with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he was after all only a student and should never be deliberately subjected to such great risk. Kingsley did not precisely think of Harry's victories as "dumb luck", the way Snape did, but nevertheless he saw no point in tempting fate.

No, the bait would have to be something else. Something Voldemort really wanted.

Suddenly Kingsley's feet fell to the floor with a thud. He sat bolt upright in his chair. He knew what would work--or more precisely, _who_.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in London was Sirius Black's family home. It had also been, for several years, the unofficial meeting place of the Order of the Phoenix. Even with Sirius gone, the house was still used by members of the Order and bore a variety of enchantments that hid it from Muggle eyes.

The portrait of Sirius' mother that had hung in the entrance hall for years, shrieking and raving about her ungrateful son and Mudbloods and traitors every time a sound woke her, had finally been freed of its sticking charm and removed to the root cellar where no one ever went. It was a decided improvement. As well, the Blacks' house-elf, Kreacher--who it was believed had left the house regularly without express permission from Sirius and had reported Order doings to the Death Eaters--had never returned to the house following Sirius' death. His whereabouts were unknown, but all the same, Dumbledore had warded the house so Kreacher could no longer gain access to it to continue his spying and eavesdropping.

Mrs Weasley had commandeered her own children, as well as Harry and Hermione, to clean the house from top to bottom the year before. That, along with the absence of Mrs Black's portrait and Kreacher, rendered the big house almost comfortable, if a bit deserted feeling.

Snape used Number Twelve occasionally as a place where he could get right away from the school and the students when he needed a refuge. He could travel there via the Floo network from his own fireplace in the Slytherin dungeons at Hogwarts. It was really quite handy.

On this particular day he had chosen to Apparate from Hogsmeade instead. He had gone to the village to purchase potion ingredients for his classroom as the supplies in his cabinet were dwindling. But instead he found himself strolling through the village streets and paths restlessly, observing the villagers and the odd Hogwarts staff member here and there as they went about their business.

It occurred to him, as he watched the townspeople call friendly greetings to one another, that he was...tired. He examined the thought. Yes, that was it--he was tired. Of waiting for the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort. Of always missing out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching post. Of people avoiding him. Of not having any kind of real life. He might as well be invisible--life flowed around him while people looked past him, through him. It was unbearably lonely.

Knowing that it was all his own fault didn't help matters. He knew--who better?--that when he had faced that long-ago fork in the road and chosen to follow Voldemort, he had chosen badly. Of course he knew that--now. But at the time, the lure of great power had been more than he could, or had wanted to, resist. Power would change his life. Dreams of exacting vengeance on those who had wronged him--James Potter heading the list--had seduced him, and he had surrendered his conscience to the Dark Lord with barely a murmur.

Remembering that now, however, only fueled his self-disgust and, it must be said, his self-pity. He closed his eyes and fervently wished himself in the safety and solitude of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

He Apparated in the kitchen. It was very cold and nearly dark there in the basement, so he set about starting fires in the enormous kitchen fireplace and in the library and the bedroom he habitually used during his visits, lighting candles as he went, until the rooms took on a semblance of warmth and looked a bit less gloomy.

A short time later Snape had concocted an omelet out of ingredients someone, probably Molly Weasley, had thoughtfully stocked. He enjoyed cooking and thought of it as a sort of extension of potion-making, but this was the only place he really got to indulge in it. The one and only time he had cooked a meal in his own rooms in Slytherin, a house-elf had appeared at his door and reproachfully reminded him that "that wos wot they was there for, sir, and wos sir wanting to do all of them right out of their jobs, sir?" Snape had fumed at the elf and even thrown a pot at him to make him leave, but the creature had stood his ground, steadfastly "offering" to be of service, until Snape had given up in disgust, continuing to eat his meals at the staff table with the rest of the faculty from then on.

He savored a mouthful of egg and mushroom and stared vacantly across the table, imagining Trillium Lovejoy sitting across from him--talking, laughing, perhaps sharing a private joke that only the two of them understood.

Lost in this pleasant dream, it therefore came as something of a shock when Tonks Apparated with a crash directly behind him, knocking the skillet off the cooker with an almighty gong. Snape leaped from his chair and whirled around in a single motion, Trillium and his omelet forgotten.

"What on earth--" he ground out, heart pounding.

"Sorry, Severus," said Tonks. She grinned unrepentantly. "Really have to work on my aim. Quite graceful, that move of yours." She picked up the skillet and put it back on the counter. "Mmm, something smells good," she exclaimed. She spied his omelet on the table and looked from it to the skillet and back again, surprise evident on her face. "I never knew you could cook, Severus. D'you suppose there might be--ahem--more where that came from?" she asked hopefully.

Snape rolled his eyes. "_Retensio_," he said, waving his wand toward his plate. The steam rising from the omelet froze in midair; the omelet would stay hot until the charm wore off in a few minutes. In resigned silence, he prepared and cooked a second omelet and smacked the plate down in front of Tonks ungraciously.

"Gee, thanks, Sev," she said cheerfully. He winced at the nickname.

"To what do I owe the--pleasure--of this visit?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well," Tonks said through a mouthful of omelet--Snape had to look away as this was more than he wanted to see-- "I was talking to Kingsley and he reckoned you might be here since Albus said you weren't at the school. He asked me to find you and tell you he wants to talk to you. Wants to meet you here--are you staying the night, then?"

Snape nodded unwillingly. "I had planned to," he said grumpily.

"Great." Tonks beamed. "You stay put, then, and he'll be along as soon as he's done with his--er--errand. He's got something quite urgent to discuss with you." She scraped the last bits of egg from the plate and popped them into her mouth, then closed her eyes and sighed loudly, a look of complete bliss on her face. Snape watched this performance in silence.

"Ah, well. Places to go, things to do, people to see," she said sunnily. "Thanks for the meal, Sev." She rose and clapped him on the back. As he was drinking from his goblet at the time, this resulted in much choking and ill-advised whacking on the back by a helpful Tonks. Snape recovered enough to glare at her and she patted him one last time.

"I'll just be off, then. Don't go anywhere," she repeated. "Kingsley should be along soon." She smiled with irrepressible good spirits and Disapparated. Snape wondered idly where she planned to Apparate next, and what she would break there.

Damn. What the devil did Kingsley want? He stared gloomily at the fire. Really, was one evening to himself, without half the members of the Order popping in and out, so very much to ask? A peculiar thought struck him: this was his social life. He snorted. Now that was sad.

Well, he didn't have to sit in this hard wooden chair while he waited. He got up and waved his wand over the plates and skillet. "_Scourgify_," he muttered, and they gleamed as if food had never touched them. He sent them back into their cupboards and walked upstairs to the library. The fire had warmed it considerably by now. He pulled a chair close to the hearth and slouched down in it, wondering when Kingsley might show up.

Some time later--it could have been minutes or hours--he jerked awake to the sound of someone stamping their feet down in the kitchen.

"Severus? You here?" called Kingsley's deep voice.

"In the library," Snape said. There was much blowing and panting as Kingsley mounted the stairs. He came into the library, the icy cold of the night seeming to cling palpably to him. Snape edged away, shivering, and turned back to the fire.

"Well, sit down," he snapped irritably. "You've brought the cold in with you."

"Indeed," said Kingsley. His face was red with cold. He pulled off a large pair of fuzzy purple mittens and caught Snape staring at them in horrified fascination.

"Rather awful, aren't they?" he chuckled. "Tonks made them for me for Christmas. Wanted to try her hand at knitting--Molly Weasley's teaching her." He laid the mittens on the back of the other armchair, across from Snape, and stretched his hands out to the fire.

"Ouch--burns a bit, eh? I'll need to put a warming charm on those before I end up with frostbite." He slung his cloak across the divan and sank into the armchair with a groan. The silence stretched out while Kingsley got his breath back, Snape too disgruntled by the unwanted company to make an effort to speak.

Finally Kingsley stirred. "Well, Severus," he said. "You're probably wondering what this is all about. I've spoken to Dumbledore, and he thought I should ask your opinion of a certain idea I've had." He leaned closer and lowered his voice, although they were the only ones in the house.

"These Muggle killings must be stopped, Severus. Voldemort can't go on like this. Do you realize just what it is that he's doing?"

Snape glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. Taking this for encouragement, Kingsley continued.

"Not only are all of these murders related--of course they've all been ordered by Voldemort. We're sure of that much. But recently we've realized that there's more to it than that. They aren't as random as they might appear. All the Muggles who have been murdered have one very important thing in common: they are pillars of society--the backbone, if you will, of the Muggle world. Look at who they've killed--politicians, judges, clergymen, heads of corporations, doctors, scholars, inventors, teachers. Many of them are of minor importance, taken singly, but together they represent the underpinnings of Muggle society. And we're not just talking about a few scattered people, Severus. Hundreds--we're talking _hundreds_ of murders.

"Only think: it's the perfect crime. None of us have ever been fingerprinted, we haven't any of their driving licenses or passports. The wizarding world is not generally known to even exist. With the Death Eaters' ability to Apparate, murder, and then literally disappear afterward with nothing to connect them to the crimes--and not being traceable in the Muggle world--well, it's perfect, isn't it? The Muggle police haven't a clue. They'll never stop it." He looked Snape in the eye.

"Only we can do that."

"_We_?" Snape said. "And just who might _we_ be?"

"The Ministry, of course. With a little help." Kingsley paused. "Severus--will you help us?"

"Ah," purred Snape. "At last we get to it. What, exactly, do you mean by 'helping'?"

Kingsley smiled. "Oh, I've thought of an excellent plan," he chortled. "Best one yet: we set a trap for the Death Eaters! Simple but effective. There's a chance it could even get us Voldemort himself. And the best part is--well, you know the saying "it takes a thief to catch a thief"?

Snape narrowed his eyes, not sure he liked where this conversation was going. "So?" he said dismissively.

Kingsley grinned. "Well, guess what we use for bait? Give up?"

A sinking feeling was settling into the pit of Snape's stomach. The omelet protested loudly.

"What?" he finally managed.

Kingsley clapped his hands together with an air of one presenting a wonderful surprise.

"Why--_you_, of course, Severus."


	11. Man With a Plan

CHAPTER 11

Man With a Plan

It had been a week since Kingsley Shacklebolt had revealed his plan to lure Death Eaters into a trap using Snape as bait.

The more Snape thought about it, the more sense it made, although he was reluctant to admit it. At first he had been furious at Kingsley's presumption in asking such a thing of him. After broaching the subject, Kingsley had been treated to a display of temper the likes of which he had rarely had the dubious honor of witnessing. By the time he finally left Grimmauld Place, even his hearty spirits were drooping. He was convinced that Snape would never agree to participate in the scheme.

That was, indeed, Snape's first reaction. And after further thought, his second reaction as well. The whole idea was preposterous. Kingsley was a naïve idiot. And to think the man was head of the Auror Division!

However, at odd moments over the next few days the idea came back to him, like a remnant of an old nightmare that wouldn't quite go away. The longer he thought about it, the more possibilities he began to see. Could such a plan really work? He wanted to believe it was possible, but it seemed entirely too simple a plan, too good to be true.

It wasn't often that Snape allowed himself to fantasize about what his life could be like once the specter of Voldemort was no longer looming somewhere in his rather vague future. Most of the time he had to make a conscious effort to not think about Voldemort or wonder when and how he would finally get around to punishing Snape. Especially the "how". During the time Snape had been a loyal Death Eater he had seen enough of Voldemort's evil deeds firsthand to have a fairly accurate idea of what lay in store for him, too, eventually. It really didn't bear thinking about, so he had taken a fatalistic approach to his end: whatever would happen, would happen. He had no control over it. As he had told Professor Lovejoy, he really didn't think he had much of his "future" left.

But now he wondered. Kingsley's plan might not be a great idea; it could end in complete disaster--for Snape, anyway, should he agree to participate, which so far he had not. The one thing about it that did appeal to him was that it meant an end to his waiting. It meant taking some sort of definite action toward his final confrontation with Voldemort. Why should he wait for the Dark Lord to come looking for him--why not the other way round?

He told himself it was a foolish plan. The chance of success was small. Who was he, to think himself so important to Voldemort or the remaining Death Eaters that they would risk capture just to get their hands on him?

He wondered what Trillium would say when she heard about the plan. She had barely spoken to him for weeks now; Snape missed her terribly, but he had no intention of allowing himself to imagine a future with her. He supposed she had accepted his reasoning, since she certainly never went out of her way to be near him any more--a fact which was not lost on the other staff. Dumbledore was the only one brave enough--or foolhardy enough--to mention it.

"Afternoon, Severus," he said, coming upon Snape one day in a corridor overlooking the courtyard. "Lovely day." Snape appeared lost in thought, intent upon something in the courtyard. Dumbledore followed his gaze to where Professor Lovejoy was receiving instruction from Hagrid on how to properly balance a hawk upon her gloved wrist. She had a delighted expression on her face and the frosty air had turned her cheeks a becoming shade of pink.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, watching Snape out of the corner of his eye, "I see Hagrid is teaching Trillium the art of hawking. I haven't had an opportunity to speak to her lately--have you, Severus?"

Snape, jarred out of his daydream by the direct question, looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. "Er--what? Spoken to--" he stammered. He glanced back out at the courtyard. "Er--no, I haven't. Was I...supposed to?"

"Oh no, no. I just noticed that there seemed to be a certain, shall we say, distance between you these days," Dumbledore said. Guileless blue eyes looked at Snape. "Such a pity. Ah, well." He motioned to the scene outside. "She and Hagrid certainly seem to get on like a house on fire, don't they?"

Snape stared at him. "Hagrid?" he croaked. He looked out to where Hagrid was bent down to hear what Professor Lovejoy was saying. They both seemed quite animated. The watery winter sunshine brought out red highlights in her hair. How lovely she looked. Hagrid seemed to think so, too, if the idiotic grin on his face was anything to go by. But--Hagrid and Trillium Lovejoy? Surely not. He laughed unconvincingly.

"You will have your little joke, Headmaster," he said weakly.

Dumbledore earnestly looked him in the eye. "Severus. You must realize that some chances are given to us only once. The trick is to recognize these opportunities when they come along. It seems to me you are about to receive a second chance of your own, if you have the sense to grasp it." He glanced out at the courtyard again, then turned his mild gaze on Snape. "Sometimes we have to know when to _make_ our own second chances--and have the courage to do so. Eh, Severus?" His hand touched Snape's shoulder lightly, then he walked down the corridor. He glanced back for just a moment, a twinkle in his eye, before disappearing round the corner.

Snape was left to watch alone as Hagrid and Professor Lovejoy moved off toward the lake, both of their heads turned skyward to look for the returning hawk. They made an incongruous couple--Hagrid so large and Professor Lovejoy so petite--but they obviously neither noticed nor cared.

While not seriously believing there was any romantic attachment between Hagrid and Professor Lovejoy--and well aware of Dumbledore's propensity for interfering and matchmaking--Snape was alarmed to feel a sort of burning sensation round his heart. Or...maybe it was more like a giant fist squeezing his chest. Either way, it was most unpleasant. He knew very well it couldn't be jealousy; Trillium Lovejoy did not belong to him and was free to spend time with whomever she wanted. If that was Hagrid, then, as ridiculous as it was--so be it. If she couldn't see what a fool she was making of herself, throwing herself at the gamekeeper--and in front of the entire school, at that--well, it was no business of his. Just because he, Snape, couldn't understand what she could possibly see in someone like Hagrid--

Come to that, what _did_ she see in Hagrid? Oh, all right--he was friendly enough. But really. So was--well, no. He himself wasn't actually very friendly, Snape supposed. But regardless of that, hadn't she said she hoped to pursue a relationship with him? Now here she was, not a month later, making sheep's eyes at some other man. How would she feel if she knew Snape might soon be risking his very life--that, soon, she might never see him again?

He walked slowly down the corridor, wallowing in the mental image of himself as a hero. Of Trillium receiving word of his death at the hands of Voldemort and sobbing over his lifeless body. "Severus," she would cry. "Severus, my love, don't leave me. Severus!"

"Severus--Severus, are you listening to me?" It was Madam Pomfrey, walking at his side. Where on earth had _she_ popped up from--and what was she saying? Snape stopped abruptly. She was looking at him strangely.

"Are--are you all right, Severus?" she asked hesitantly. "You seem a bit distracted."

"No," he said curtly. "Did you want something?"

Undaunted by his rudeness, Madam Pomfrey repeated patiently, "I said, have you given any thought to this week's joint Potions and Healing class? I had a few ideas--perhaps we could discuss them, if you have a moment?" She was a bit dismayed. Why was it that whenever she had anything to discuss with Snape, his attention seemed to be miles away? It seemed a bit unfair when she was trying so hard to make this joint teaching venture a success. She was beginning to think it would prove to be one of the few ideas Albus had had that didn't work out.

With some effort, Snape summoned a smile and gestured toward the staff lounge. "By all means," he said. "Didn't you say something about the students each giving an oral presentation?" She had mentioned something like that a while back--hadn't she?

Apparently she had, because she looked gratified that he actually had been paying attention and even remembered one of her suggestions.

"Yes, I think it might do them some good," she said as they entered the lounge. "Don't you agree? Public speaking is often so very difficult for them at first."

"Excellent idea, Poppy," Snape said, trying to look interested as he followed her inside. "I take it you have some specific ideas on how to approach this?" He prepared to pay attention as Madam Pomfrey launched into an enthusiastic explanation of her plan for their shared classes, making a valiant attempt to banish Trillium Lovejoy from his thoughts for at least a few blasted minutes.

But he couldn't help wondering what she and Hagrid were doing while he was wasting time with Poppy Pomfrey in the staff lounge. Where were they? Were they together? Was she actually seeing Hagrid? Had she dismissed Snape so easily? The lounge was quite warm, and soon he was daydreaming again, floating on the gentle stream of Madam Pomfrey's voice.

That worthy personage now sat regarding him with deep disgust. Really. Why did she even bother? She had stopped speaking several minutes ago when she realized Snape was getting a rather glazed look about the eyes. She sat and waited to see how long it would take him to realize she was no longer speaking. Finally, seeing no change on his part, she threw up her hands in exasperation, gathered up her papers, and stormed out of the room.

The sound of the door slamming behind her recalled Snape to his surroundings. "What?" he said, startled. He looked round at Madam Pomfrey--but she wasn't there. He sat alone in the deserted staff room. He winced, knowing he had probably hurt her feelings. He supposed he should do something by way of apology. He sighed. Drat women and their dratted confusing feelings. What was a man supposed to do with them? Glumly he admitted that not letting his mind wander when one of them was talking to him might be a start. He dragged himself to his feet, grimly determined to hear Poppy out even if it killed him. Or she did.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Arthur Weasley looked up at a tap on his office doorway to see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there.

"Ah, Kingsley! Come in, come in," he said genially. "Just looking over this little tool kit Harry gave me for Christmas." He showed Kingsley a neat leather zip-case that held an assortment of screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers in a range of sizes, lingering in particular over the very small ones. "Brilliant, eh? A Muggle can fix anything at all if he has one of these." He ran an admiring finger over a small crescent wrench and then, with obvious reluctance, zipped the case shut. "Now then, what can I do for you?"

Kingsley smiled. He genuinely liked Arthur Weasley, whose fascination with Muggle artifacts was rather fun to watch. Kingsley had no idea what use he'd find for the tool kit, but no doubt Weasley would think of something. Had he been a Muggle, he would be the kind of man who was forever tinkering in his tool shed or garage--an inventor, perhaps. He had somehow landed in a job that was perfect for him and obviously relished every new discovery he made about the Muggle world.

"I've come to ask whether you can attend a meeting--you and Molly--tomorrow evening," Kingsley said. "A _very important_ meeting at Number Twelve."

"What? Oh--Number Twelve, you say? Tomorrow, eh? Yes, I should think we can make it." Mr Weasley lowered his voice. "Is it about--you know--The Plan?" He waggled his eyebrows significantly.

"Ssh. Yes. But let's not discuss it here," Kingsley said. "See you tomorrow, then." He sketched a brief salute and was gone.

Mr Weasley hurriedly wrote a note to his wife, which he sent off via Ministry owl, to give her a little advance warning of the next evening's plans. He also mentioned that he might be a bit late getting home tonight as he had a new set of Muggle artifacts to catalog. Then he unzipped the tool kit again and, rummaging in his desk, he drew out a small box of metal screws. Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he looked about his office for something upon which to try his new toys.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On Friday night Grimmauld Place came to life once again. Molly, Arthur, and Bill Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, and Snape sat around the scarred kitchen table of Number Twelve--the Order of the Phoenix, together again. Tonight an extra person was in attendance. Professor Lovejoy had been invited by Dumbledore to join the group, as he felt her Auror experience might be useful to Kingsley's plan.

"Well, Kingsley," said Arthur Weasley, "why don't you explain your idea so everyone can hear the details? We all need to know what this plan is if we're to carry it out."

"Of course," Kingsley replied. "As you know, the whole point is to take as many Death Eaters as possible out of circulation. It might even be possible to get You-Know-Who himself, if luck is with us."

"Wait just a moment," Snape interrupted. " 'Get' the Dark Lord? Just how do you think you're going to 'get' him?"

"Aye, an' wot would you do wiv 'im ef you got 'im?" chimed in Mundungus. "Ain't as if yeh can just slap a pair o' gyves on 'im an' throw 'im in Azkaban, is it? 'E's a tricky one, 'e is."

Dumbledore looked around the table and then held up his hands to quell the loud buzz that followed.

"I'm afraid Mundungus is right," he said. "Although this plan may be admirably suited to the capture of some of the Death Eaters, it seems highly unlikely that Voldemort will be caught in any trap of our hasty devising. The Death Eaters do of course possess some powers, but they are not, after all, as proficient as their master when it comes to divining the thoughts and intentions of others--if, indeed, any have capability with Legilimency at all. And aside from all else, we must remember the prophecy." He watched the others' faces as his meaning sank in.

"I see that you understand me. Yes, there is every chance that Harry will have to face Voldemort alone, without protection or interference from any of us. That is something we do not yet know. I do think, however, that we should direct our efforts toward the Death Eaters. After all, it would be something of a blow to Voldemort, no matter how powerful he is, to be robbed of his laborers."

Kingsley nodded. "You're right, Albus. No sense getting in over our heads. Right, then. I'll explain the bare bones of the plan, and you lot feel free to poke holes in it, make suggestions, tell me what you think. Then we can flesh it out a bit, fill in the gaps, and there you have it." He clapped his hands together and began to pace back and forth along one side of the table.

"So. We want to set a trap for the Death Eaters. And how do we do that, you ask? They surely know that WE know all these killings are their doing, and they'll be expecting some kind of reaction from the Ministry. So they'll be on their guard. We have to make them let down their guard. Ah, but how?"

Everyone on the opposite side of the table watched, semi-hypnotized, as he paced. Mrs Weasley grabbed his wrist as he turned to start another lap.

"For goodness' sake, Kingsley," she exclaimed. "Sit down! I can't keep twisting my neck to look at you."

"Sorry, Molly," he apologized, and returned to the head of the table. "So what, you may well ask, would allow a Death Eater to feel secure and not suspect some tricky business was in the offing?" He waggled his eyebrows. "Anyone?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Get on with it, man," he snapped. "This isn't a classroom. If you've got something to say, then say it."

Kingsley continued, unabashed. "Why--another Death Eater, of course." They all looked at him blankly.

"A--another Death Eater?" asked Mrs Weasley. "What do you mean, _another_ one?" She looked around the table, sure that the others must be as confused as she was, and realized that all eyes were directed at Snape. She gasped.

"_Severus_? Now see here, Kingsley. Just what does this plan of yours entail? I don't like the sound of it. How exactly is Severus involved?" Snape flicked his gaze at her, his expression unreadable. Professor Lovejoy looked alarmed, but withheld comment.

"Well, if I might answer a question with a question," began Kingsley, "what do the Death Eaters hate above all else? What makes thoughts of vengeance go round in their evil little brains? You all know the answer. You were looking right at it just now." There was an uncomfortable silence, Snape finally broke.

"A traitor," he said quietly. "A Death Eater who's betrayed his master and gone over to the other side." He looked each of the others in the eye as he spoke, lingering on Professor Lovejoy for a moment and moving on. "Not only that, but a spy as well. Really, it's just about as bad as it can get." The ghost of a smile flitted briefly across his face.

"Exactly!" Kingsley was nearly hopping with enthusiasm. "They'll want him dead! Any one of them would be honored to be the favored one who presents You-Know-Who with Severus Snape." He beamed.

Professor McGonagall hid a smile; it didn't seem an appropriate time for a display of levity. She accidentally caught Dumbledore's eye, however, and saw a distinct twinkle.

"Very well, Kingsley," she said. "What exactly is this plan of yours? What assurance can you give us that Severus won't end up sacrificing himself in vain?"

Professor Lovejoy turned to look at her. "Sacrificing himself? Whatever do you mean?" She gave an awkward little laugh. "Why, you almost make it sound as if Severus plans to--to let them--" She broke off as understanding dawned. "You can't," she whispered. "You can't ask that of him."

Kingsley's face was grave. "Oh no, my dear. I agree, absolutely. But you see, I didn't ask. Severus volunteered."

Snape fidgeted, uneasy at being the focus of everyone's attention. He glanced at Professor Lovejoy's stricken face. She sat frozen in place and stared at him, her head moving slowly back and forth in a silent denial of what she was hearing.

Finally, Tonks broke the silence.

"I think I see where you're going with this, Kingsley," she said briskly, moving on and forcing everyone else to pay attention in order to not miss anything. "So--how are you going to do it? You can't exactly send out invitations, can you?" A few people chuckled weakly, but the awkwardness remained.

Dumbledore rose. "If I may, Kingsley?" The younger man bowed gracefully.

"I see it as going something like this," Dumbledore began. "Stop me if I go wrong. As you all know, when Voldemort wants to summon his servants he does so by way of the Dark Mark that he has inflicted on each of them." He motioned to Snape, who grudgingly held up his arm so the mark was clearly visible to everyone, then quickly pulled the sleeve of his robe back over it.

Dumbledore continued. "Severus still bears Voldemort's mark and, I believe, is fully aware of each summons that goes out." He looked back at Snape questioningly and received a curt nod in reply.

"When all is in readiness, we will simply await Voldemort's next summons--and Severus, with the rest of the Death Eaters, will answer it." He looked calmly at all the sagging jaws around him and hastened to add by way of clarification, "Oh, not as a Death Eater, of course, but as a spy. A spy who will unfortunately be caught and most likely taken before Voldemort." He looked at Kingsley. "Is that roughly the plan?"

"But--but that's no plan!" cried Professor Lovejoy in dismay. "Sending Severus straight to Voldemort so he can be tortured and killed? How does that accomplish anything?" She took a deep breath that sounded more like a sob and said tightly, "It makes no sense at all. Why would you even suggest such a thing?"

Mr Weasley patted her hand. "There, there, now. Let Albus finish, my dear." He smiled encouragingly at her. "That's hardly the whole plan, eh, Albus?"

Dumbledore looked kindly at Professor Lovejoy. "No, indeed," he said. "Severus will answer Voldemort's call, but he won't be alone, Trillium. Far from it. I daresay the entire Order will lend whatever aid we can. And of course, Kingsley's Aurors will be there too."

Professor Lovejoy sat up straighter. "I'm going, too," she said determinedly. Snape's eyes flew to her face; she stared back defiantly. Dumbledore looked at her consideringly.

"Ah--well, as to that, I'm not sure it would be in either of your best interests for you to be present," he said. When he saw she was about to protest, he continued quickly. "I am aware that the two of you have formed--er--something of an attachment to each other," he said delicately. Snape looked outraged at this intrusion on his privacy. Professor Lovejoy blushed and lowered her eyes.

"I fear an excess of personal feelings for each other may affect this mission adversely," Dumbledore went on. "We all are Severus' friends--" Snape looked slightly taken aback by this idea-- "but save for yourself, Trillium, I think I can say with some certainty that none of us is in love with him." Mundungus gave an outright guffaw at this, and both Lupin and Mr Weasley shook with suppressed laughter. Dumbledore allowed Snape to twist in the wind for a moment longer, then he held up his hands for silence.

"The point I am laboring to make, unfortunately at Severus and Trillium's expense," he said apologetically, "is that clear heads will be needed for this operation. An excess of emotion--any emotion, be it good or bad--clouds the intellect and creates an element of risk."

He looked at Professor Lovejoy. "When you were with Kingsley's Auror Division I heard very good things about you, Trillium," he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders. You work well under pressure, and I understand you can be depended upon in a crisis. But you've never had someone you love standing between you and an object that must be destroyed. Do you think you can do what you have to do with regard to the Death Eaters and not be influenced by whatever may be happening to Severus?"

Professor Lovejoy swallowed hard and looked at Snape. He looked back, his dark eyes shuttered. She lifted her chin. "Yes," she said. "I can."

Dumbledore regarded her a moment longer as if weighing her answer, then sat down and folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him.

"Well, then," he said, "it looks like we do indeed have a plan. We need only decide who else to include in our work force--Kingsley, you should handle that, they're your Aurors--and wait for Voldemort's summons."

"But how will we know what to do in time to act on it?" asked Tonks.

"And how will we know where we're to go?" asked Mrs Weasley.

Dumbledore smiled. "As to the first question," he replied, "Hermione Granger devised a rather ingenious little charm last year which she has kindly shared with me. She applied it to tokens that students in Harry's defense class carried with them. When a time was set for the group's next meeting, the tokens would become very warm to the touch in order to attract the owner's attention, and the date and time of the next meeting was displayed on them. I should like to take a page out of her book and do something similar this time. I'll send your tokens by owl tomorrow."

He looked over the tops of his half-moon spectacles at Mrs Weasley. "As for the answer to your question," he said, "I believe knowledge of the meeting location is imparted to the Death Eaters at the time they are summoned--is that not so, Severus?" Snape nodded. "We can include that information on the tokens," Dumbledore finished.

Lupin looked somewhat doubtful. "Do you really think something like this will work, Albus?" he asked. "It all seems rather...far-fetched, somehow. Much too simple, for one thing."

"I do not know whether it will work, Remus," replied Dumbledore. "But certainly something must be tried, and soon. This killing can not be allowed to continue. Better we take the offensive now than wait for Voldemort to turn this into a wholesale massacre. Don't forget, he is busy amassing an army as we speak. Any steps we can take to lessen his effectiveness and influence now should be taken--before it is too late."

They sat there, minds filled with dreadful visions of the evil that Voldemort intended to inflict on the world. The enormity of it all--the repercussions for both the magic and non-magic worlds, and the sheer evil that drove Voldemort--was, quite simply, staggering to consider.

A log popped loudly in the fireplace, startling the company out of their private ruminations.

"Are we finished?" asked Mrs Weasley. "My goodness, just look at the time! Albus, we must be going. Arthur and I will be ready when we're needed." There were various sounds of assent from around the table. Mr Weasley slung his muffler around his neck and drew on his heavy cloak. Others followed suit. One by one they Disapparated until only Dumbledore, Snape, and Professor Lovejoy remained. Dumbledore looked at the other two and chuckled.

"It's been a very long time since I played gooseberry," he teased. "I suppose you two can manage without a chaperone?" Without waiting for an answer, he got to his feet and pulled on a pair of fluorescent green mittens. Snape jerked his head at them.

"Tonks?" he asked.

Dumbledore laughed ruefully. "I'm afraid so. Her knitting technique improves daily; unfortunately one can't say the same for her sense of--er--color." He grimaced comically. "Ah, well. At least I'll be visible if I accidentally sink into a snowdrift, eh?" With a cheery fluorescent-green wave, he Disapparated.

Professor Lovejoy remained seated at the table, appearing lost in thought. Finally Snape said brusquely, "Well? Are you intending to stay here all night?" She looked up.

"Oh--no. No, I'm not. Are you?"

He shrugged. "It's the weekend--no classes tomorrow. I was considering it." He didn't sound in the least as if he were hinting that she should stay.

"Oh. Do you want me to go?"

Well, that was blunt enough, he thought. _Did_ he want her to leave? He allowed himself to envision the possibilities if she stayed--and forced himself to admit that they were impossible. So much time passed as he sat there lost in his own thoughts and desires that Professor Lovejoy finally assumed his silence to mean assent. With a tiny sigh she stood and reluctantly began pulling her gloves on.

Her sudden movement caught Snape's eye, and before he could stop himself he blurted out, "No."

She froze, hardly daring to hope. "No, what?"

Snape, feeling at a bit of a disadvantage while seated, rose to put them at more equal levels.

"No, I don't want you to go." He saw hope leap into her eyes and said quickly, "I think you _should_ go. I can give you fifty reasons why you should leave right now. But...I can only give you one reason to stay."

Professor Lovejoy stood there, knowing he was right and she really should go while he was giving her the chance. But she wanted so very badly to hear what that one reason was.

"Tell me," she said very softly. The decision had to be his--she wouldn't have him saying she had talked him into anything.

He held out his hand, silently asking her to come to him. "You know why," he said just as softly. She put her own hands behind her back, out of his reach, and shook her head wordlessly. His lips twitched. Her eyebrows rose. Suddenly he laughed.

"Making me work for it, Trillium?" he asked. He walked around to her side of the table and pulled her hands from behind her, planting a warm kiss in each palm, his eyes fixed firmly on hers.

"I want you to stay because I love you," he said. "And I miss you. And--there may not be all that much time left to us." A shadow crossed her face and he brought his hand up to smooth it away. "Now that we have an actual plan in place, I suppose it could happen at any time. I don't imagine we'll have much warning." He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm beginning to see how much time I've wasted already--now that I know so little is left."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Professor Lovejoy said, and couldn't help adding, "It's about time." But she smiled when she said it.

"Trillium, I don't know what will happen to me," he said slowly. "I imagine Voldemort wants me dead, but he may torture me into insanity instead, thinking I'll suffer more that way. Or--who knows, maybe nothing all that bad will happen. Maybe the Aurors will win the day and we'll all live to go home afterward. Whatever happens, I want no doubt in your mind that here--now--I do love you. Once we leave here I don't know if I'll have another chance to tell you. So, no--I don't want you to go."

"Then," she said, "I'll stay, of course."


	12. Snape Smells a Rat

CHAPTER 12

Snape Smells A Rat

A little over two months passed without incident following that meeting of the Order. In early April the Hogwarts Board of Governors met at the school for their annual inspection. Among them was Lucius Malfoy.

For the most part he and Dumbledore avoided each other; when that was not possible, they observed a chilly formality which, for Dumbledore, was quite out of character. There was no pretense of cordiality between them, or of not knowing precisely where the other's loyalties lay.

At lunchtime the twelve Board members were ushered past the staff table and into the staff lounge, where a table had been set specially for them. As Lucius Malfoy passed Snape, he appeared momentarily startled by the sight of Snape holding Professor Lovejoy's chair for her, one of the little courtesies he had begun showing her openly following the revelations of their night together. Malfoy caught Snape's eye and let his gaze drift insolently down to the oblivious Professor Lovejoy and back up, a smirk fixed upon his features. Snape bristled and stared back with undisguised hostility, his hand coming up to rest on Professor Lovejoy's shoulder in an unmistakable gesture of possession. Malfoy lifted an eyebrow and directed a more calculating look at Professor Lovejoy before continuing into the staff lounge.

Professor Lovejoy had missed the silent exchange, but she felt Snape's hand tighten on her shoulder. She looked up at him. "What is it, Severus?" she asked, puzzled by the fierce look on his face.

"What? Oh. Nothing, nothing." He sat down beside her, absently rubbing his wrist. She noticed at once and paled.

"Severus?" she whispered urgently. "Your arm--is it--the summons?"

He shook his head. "No. A bit of tingling, no more. A summons is unmistakable. This is nothing to worry about." She stared at him until he met her eyes. "Really, Trillium. I'll let you know when it comes. I don't know why this happens sometimes. Who knows what he's up to, what he's thinking about."

His eyes were fixed on something partway down the Gryffindor table. Professor Lovejoy followed his gaze and saw Harry's hand pressed to his forehead.

"Oh no," she said, alarmed. "Severus, do you think--"

"Yes," he said as he rose hastily and started toward Harry. "Quickly--follow me." She rose and hurried after him, ignoring startled looks from the other faculty as she rushed to keep up with Snape.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched as the Board of Governors filed past the staff table into the lounge. With great interest, they also observed the little byplay between Snape and Malfoy senior.

"Now _that_ was interesting," said Hermione musingly. "Have you noticed how he's been doing that a lot lately?"

"Doing what?" asked Ron.

"Oh, holding Professor Lovejoy's chair for her, giving her his arm when they walk together, lots of little things like that." She directed a meaningful look at Ron. "You know--things that a _gentleman_ does for a _lady_?"

Absorbed by the drama taking place at the staff table, Ron missed the hint. "Little things...mm-hmm." Harry grinned; Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Honestly, Ron, you're hopeless," she said.

When Harry looked back at the staff table, Snape was rubbing his wrist, where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin. Professor Lovejoy noticed and turned very pale, and Harry wondered why. She put her hand on Snape's arm, clearly asking if he was all right, and he made a negative motion.

At that instant Harry's scar blazed to life with a blinding, white-hot pain. He cried out and pressed a hand to his forehead, screwing his eyes shut in agony. He was only vaguely aware of a commotion going on around him, Ron and Hermione worriedly asking him what was wrong. His scar hurt so badly that for a few moments he was utterly incapable of responding.

Then Professor Lovejoy was there, and--Snape?--was bending over him with a concerned expression. Gradually Harry's vision cleared.

"I'm all right," he said in some embarrassment.

"Harry, come with us," said Professor Lovejoy. "Right now, come along." She grasped his elbow firmly and marched him out of the Great Hall, Snape on his other side. Harry was puzzled and a little worried.

"I'm okay," he protested. "I don't need to go to the Infirmary."

Snape and Professor Lovejoy looked at each other. "My office, I think," she said quickly. "It's closest." Snape nodded and they started up the main stairway, Harry feeling like a prisoner between them. They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and Professor Lovejoy led the way up to her office. She motioned to the sofa.

"Please, Harry, sit down," she said.

"Really, I'm fine," he repeated. "It's nothing, honest."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Snape said impatiently. "Potter, sit. Now." Harry's jaw was set mutinously but he did as he was told. Snape and Professor Lovejoy looked down at him, one with annoyance and the other with a worried frown.

"You noticed, Severus, did you not? Harry's scar started to hurt him immediately after your arm began to tingle," said Professor Lovejoy. "Can the two be connected somehow, do you think?" She looked from Snape to Harry anxiously. "This has something to do with Voldemort. I'm sure of it."

Harry stared at the floor grumpily. He had no wish to discuss his scar with Snape. Snape seemed of like mind, looking around the room as if seeking a distraction--looking anywhere but at Harry. Professor Lovejoy finally broke the silence.

"Well?" she said loudly, her tone ominous. Harry and Snape both jumped and looked at her, startled out of their respective fits of the sullens. Her arms were folded in front of her and her eyes were steely, warning signs that both males wisely acknowledged.

"I don't know," Snape muttered. "I...suppose they could be related. I have no idea what the tingling means, however, so it's impossible to be sure."

Professor Lovejoy turned to Harry. "What about you, Harry?" she asked. "Do you know what it is that causes your scar to hurt?"

He nodded. "Professor Dumbledore thinks it happens whenever Voldemort's either very angry or very pleased about something. But I don't know where he is or what he's doing, so I don't see how that helps."

She thought. "Hmm. I don't either, at the moment. It does seem a rather odd coincidence that your scar and Severus' arm--both of which are directly connected to Voldemort--alerted you at the same time, doesn't it?" She paced in front of the fire for a few minutes, then she whirled round.

"I've got it!" she cried. Snape and Harry eyed her warily. "What happened right before your arm started tingling and your scar started to burn?" she asked them with an excited air. Snape shook his head, trying to remember, and Harry shrugged.

"You had just sat down," he said finally. "Mr Malfoy was walking by and gave you--" he jerked his head toward Snape, whose eyes narrowed at Harry's deliberate lack of respect-- "a sort of dirty look or something. Then he looked at Professor Lovejoy kind of funny--" He broke off, suddenly comprehending the furious signal Snape was attempting to send him to stop talking. But it was too late.

"Lucius Malfoy?" Professor Lovejoy said. "What do you mean, 'kind of funny'?" She eyed Harry, puzzled. He, catching Snape's now unmistakable hand-across-the-throat gesture, shrugged and said nothing. Unfortunately for Snape, however, Professor Lovejoy turned around in time to also see it.

"What on earth is going on with you two?" she asked. "What did Lucius Malfoy do? I didn't hear him say a word. Someone had better start explaining--right now."

Snape fidgeted uncomfortably beneath her stern gaze. "He...didn't exactly _say_ anything," he began. "It was more of a--a look," he floundered.

"An insulting look," Harry said helpfully.

"Exactly! An insulting look," said Snape, nodding to Harry. "A _very_ insulting look," he repeated. It made perfect sense to him.

"That makes no sense at all, Severus," said Professor Lovejoy. "He _looked_ at me?" she said incredulously.

"Insultingly," Snape reminded her desperately.

"Oh, of course. How could I forget?" she said sarcastically. "Really, you two. How juvenile you sound. Lucius Malfoy looked at me insultingly. What has that to say to anything?"

Snape said defensively, "Well, you asked what happened immediately before, and that was what happened."

Professor Lovejoy regarded them for a moment in silence. Then she turned and began pacing again. "All right, then. Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy," she muttered. "He's a Death Eater. He has Voldemort's ear." She looked up. "What if he has more than that?" she said, almost as if talking to herself. "What if--"

Snape's eyes widened as he saw where she was going. Harry, not quite there yet, stared from one to the other, wishing one of them would just come out and tell him what was going on.

"Yes," breathed Snape. "Why not? The Dark Lord is a skilled Legilimens, and who knows what skills Malfoy has perfected?"

Professor Lovejoy said, "But even if he was communicating with Voldemort at that very moment, what could have occasioned sufficient anger--or glee--in the Dark Lord that you and Harry would feel it?"

"You," Snape said slowly. "He was looking at you."

"Ah, yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "Insultingly. I remember."

"Not just that. More as if something had just occurred to him," said Snape. "Something to do with you. I don't know what, but I don't like it." His glance met hers and for a moment they might have been the only people in the room. Professor Lovejoy thrilled to the possessive look in his eyes almost as much as if he had touched her.

Harry regarded the two of them with alarm. Whatever did his aunt see in Snape? How far had things gone between them? Having only just discovered his new relative, he wasn't ready to give her up yet--to Snape least of all.

Snape suddenly glanced at Harry and correctly interpreted his resentful look. Fully aware of its cause, and feeling smugly superior, he sent Harry a smirk that the latter longed to wipe off his face. Professor Lovejoy, too, suddenly remembered that they were not alone, and she reverted to her former crisp, businesslike manner.

"So. Lucius was looking at me. Insultingly. As if he were planning something nefarious. Involving me. Is that it?" She looked questioningly at Snape, then at Harry. They nodded. "Well, what could it be? What nefarious plan could Lucius Malfoy possibly have for me? I'm hardly his type, and there is the oh-so-lovely Narcissa to consider. Dalliance doesn't really seem like Lucius' style, does it?"

As she spoke, Harry had an unwelcome mental vision of her chained to the wall of some dungeon at Malfoy Manor. And as suddenly as that, he knew the truth. He sprang to his feet.

"It's not for Malfoy," he blurted. Snape and Professor Lovejoy looked at him in astonishment.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked.

Harry opened his mouth, but Snape held up his hand commandingly. He stared at Harry, comprehension dawning in his eyes. Harry opened his mind and forcibly shoved his vision at Snape, who blanched visibly.

"What is it? What are you doing?" Professor Lovejoy asked in some frustration. There was entirely too much silent communication going on around here. Did no one _speak_ their thoughts any more?

Snape interrupted her exasperated thoughts in a low voice. "Potter may be right," he said. He shook his head as if to make room for that distasteful thought to sink in. "Malfoy may have thought of taking you to the Dark Lord." He, even more clearly than Harry, understood just what that could mean.

"But why should he want to do that?" she asked. "Why would Voldemort have any interest in me?"

"Because Harry does. And because I do." Snape looked at her, torment in his eyes. "Remember, Trillium, I told you it wasn't safe for me to love you. It gives the Dark Lord something to use as leverage should he decide to take a more, shall we say, pro-active approach to punishing me." He swore softly, pounding his fist into his hand. "This is all my fault. I should have had more sense."

Harry had kept still as long as he was able to. He had watched the signs of his aunt and Snape's growing relationship from the beginning but, reluctant to sound like a jealous idiot in front of Ron and Hermione, he had kept his qualms to himself. But this was just too much.

"Oh, come on," he burst you. "You love her? You? That--that's not true! It can't be." He looked at Professor Lovejoy. "He doesn't even know what love is! All he knows how to do is hate everyone--including me. How can you listen to this rubbish?" He gave her an anguished look and started toward the door, but a strong arm stopped him. Realizing it was Snape, Harry tried to shake his hand off, but the iron grip forced him to turn back.

"You will apologize to your aunt immediately," Snape hissed. Harry just looked at him, unable to speak for the huge lump in his throat.

Professor Lovejoy regarded Harry in utter surprise. Then she went to him and drew him to her side.

"Well," she said with a quavering little laugh. "It sounds as though you've wanted to say that for a very long time." She looked at him as he stood next to her, stiff and resentful, and sighed.

"To be honest, Harry, I can see your point of view. Severus has diligently maintained a certain...reputation...among the students here," she said. Snape scowled and sat down in the armchair. She sent him a tiny smile.

"But you will have to suspend your disbelief, Harry, at least in this case, because he does love me. And I love him. It's not something either of us intends to go shouting from the rooftops, but there it is. You don't have to like it, but Harry--" She put one finger beneath his chin and made him look at her. "It's time for you to grow up a little. You and Severus may never be friends--although if you can't find some common ground I think it will hurt all of us eventually--but you need to understand that I can, and do, love both of you very much." Harry sent her a doubtful look out of the corner of his eye. "Well, of course I do," she said briskly. "You're my nephew, you idiot. I've waited for so long to meet you, and you're everything I'd hoped you would be. Why wouldn't I love you?"

She sighed. "Both of you have got to stop acting as if there's some kind of contest for my affection that only one of you can win. I won't tolerate it. I suppose I didn't want to see just how bad things were between you, but I should have realized."

She held Harry at arm's length and pointed at Snape. "Harry, Severus Snape is _not_ the devil incarnate. You need to show him the same respect you would give to any other teacher." She looked at Snape. "And Severus, Harry is a terrific kid. He is not like James--he is _nothing_ like James. We all have people in our lives we don't like. But as you yourself are so fond of saying: get over it."

She glared at the two of them a moment longer--Harry suspected those were tears he saw in her eyes--and then, apparently not trusting herself to say anything more, she swept furiously from the room and down the balcony stairway to the classroom. The outer door slammed--hard--and Snape and Harry cringed. They looked at each other guiltily.

"Wow. Scary," Harry said finally.

"Extremely scary," Snape found himself agreeing. "I'd--er--rather not have to go through that again." His eyes slid toward Harry. "I suppose," he said, with an air of one making a great concession, "we could, perhaps, agree to keep the--hostilities--to a minimum?"

"I suppose," Harry mumbled.

"At least when she's around," Snape amended.

"Right."

They stood there a moment longer, not sure what else to say or, indeed, whether anything else really needed to be said.

"Well," said Snape, rousing himself at last, "perhaps I should try to find her and...make amends." He sent Harry a sharp look. "Might I suggest you do the same before the day is out?"

Harry nodded glumly. He wasn't about to alienate one of the few people who accepted him unreservedly and with affection. Amends were definitely called for. He sighed heavily. Snape looked at him.

"I know exactly what you mean," he said with some feeling.


	13. PreEmptive Strike

CHAPTER 13

Pre-Emptive Strike

Harry threw down his quill and looked at his watch. Nearly time for dinner, and he was already finished with his Transfiguration homework. Even Hermione couldn't say as much, he thought smugly. Since the weather had warmed up she and Ron had been spending more and more time outdoors--helping Hagrid feed and care for his collection of creatures, going on long walks by the lake, or just practicing their flying at the Quidditch pitch.

As Harry stretched and began rolling up his parchment and putting away his books and quills, he thought how strange it was that Quidditch had taken a back seat to so many other concerns this year. Of course he enjoyed being captain of the Gryffindor team--so far this year they had won their matches against both Slytherin and Ravenclaw--but somehow the game wasn't quite as absorbing as it had been in previous years. It didn't bother him, but it did rather surprise him.

Ron was as enthusiastic a Quidditch player--and fan--as ever. He somehow managed to find the time to fit some of everything into his schedule--Quidditch, classes, Hermione, homework, and regular visits to Hagrid--and still had time left over to hang about in the Gryffindor common room. In fact, if Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought Ron possessed a Time-Turner; but these were carefully monitored by the Ministry and were not given out without very good reason. Even with all his extracurricular activities, Ron was still maintaining decent marks in all of their classes.

Make no mistake, Harry was glad that Ron was happy and his life seemed to be going so well. But sometimes he felt a bit jealous of how easy Ron had it. Harry was keenly aware that if _he_ wanted to get top marks he would have to sacrifice a significant amount of his social time to study; that _he_ had no girlfriend or even any prospects; that _his_ future seemed as vague and undecided as it ever had, Auror studies notwithstanding. He had a vague feeling of dissatisfaction, made worse by the fact that he didn't know what to do about it.

He was infinitely grateful to have had Professor Lovejoy come into his life. Over the past few months they had gotten well acquainted. She always had time to talk to Harry. She had quickly gotten over her exasperation with him and Snape, and an uneasy truce was in effect between the two men in her life. Of late, she had been spending more time than ever with Snape, and Harry was putting in even longer hours than usual studying due to the approach of final examinations. He missed talking to her, but there was talk of him spending part of the summer with her and her parents so that he could meet his grandfather and get to know that side of his family.

Until then, he lived for the weekends. He rationed his time strictly, allowing only one day each weekend in which he could do whatever he wanted. He was glad today was Thursday and there was only one more day of school that week. Tired, but feeling virtuous about the early completion of his assignment for Professor McGonagall, he dug his robe--very much the worse for wear--out of the depths of the chair in which he had sat most of the afternoon and prepared to go down for dinner. No one else was in the common room, so he exited through the portrait hole alone and went to find Ron and Hermione.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Damn and blast," Snape muttered. He was alone in his rooms in Slytherin, and he was bored. He had no potions or essays to grade; thinking up detentions for Potter had palled since Trillium was making them "try harder" to get along with each other; and speaking of the good professor--where was she?

In Hogsmeade, that's where. She and Minerva McGonagall had no afternoon classes today and were taking advantage of the free time to shop. He tapped the end of his wand on his desktop. Shopping! He snorted. Tap tap. He hated shopping. Tap. Should probably be glad she hadn't insisted that _he_ go along. Tap tappity-tap. He wouldn't really have minded, though. He enjoyed spending time with her; it didn't really matter what they were doing.

Time...what time _was_ it? He glanced at the clock on the wall, black marble with tiny ivory skulls in place of numbers, reputed to be the very clock Lucrezia Borgia had kept in her personal laboratory. He put down his wand upon seeing that it was just on five o'clock. Surely Trillium would have returned by now--her parting words had been, "See you at dinner!" Cheered by the thought of seeing her, he pulled on his robe and left the dungeon, heading upward toward her quarters. The symbolism of that was never lost on him; actually, he thought it rather appropriate since when she was with him she truly did lift him out of the darkness. The fact that she could, and moreover wanted to do so was a large part of what he loved about her. He started to whistle, only realizing what he was doing when Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, passing him in the corridor, gave him very odd looks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy felt the afternoon had been well worthwhile. She had found some lovely scented candles that she intended to burn the next time Snape spent an evening with her in her room. It was wonderful to get away from the school for a few hours, and she had truly enjoyed the time spent with Professor McGonagall. They had more in common than she had realized. Professor McGonagall had introduced her to Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks, and the three ladies had enjoyed a jolly conversation over tea and cakes in Rosmerta's personal quarters at the back of the inn.

The afternoon flew by and before they knew it, it was time to return to Hogwarts. The professors bade Madam Rosmerta goodbye and started back along the road leading to the entrance to Hogwarts, chatting as they went. Before long they came to Professor Lovejoy's favorite part of the walk, a sweeping curve in the road where no sign could be seen either of Hogsmeade behind or Hogwarts ahead. For this short stretch the road ran along the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, with towering trees on both sides that extended back into the gloomy interior.

As soon as they had rounded the first part of the bend and could no longer see the last of the outlying houses of Hogsmeade, Professor McGonagall came to an abrupt halt. Professor Lovejoy looked at her inquiringly and opened her mouth to say something, but the older woman held up a hand to stop her. She had a peculiar look on her face.

"Do you hear that?" Professor McGonagall asked very quietly. Professor Lovejoy stood there silently, listening. All she heard was the rustle of a little breeze in the evergreens.

"I don't hear anything," she said finally. "Do you?"

"No--and that's very peculiar, don't you think?" Professor McGonagall asked. "There were birds singing all about us just a moment ago. Now it's completely silent." She looked at Professor Lovejoy. "_Not_ a good sign."

"Should we go back? Do you think something is wrong?" Professor Lovejoy asked in a whisper. Now she, too, was beginning to feel apprehensive, although she couldn't have said why.

Professor McGonagall stood listening for a moment longer, then drew herself up. "I suppose not. We'd best be getting back--it's nearly time for dinner." She peered into the trees on either side of them but saw nothing unusual. They started walking again, more quickly this time, Professor Lovejoy resisting the temptation to look behind her. In a moment they would round the far end of the curve, and Hogwarts Castle--and safety--would be in sight.

Which is undoubtedly why the six Death Eaters chose that particular moment to step out of the trees with wands drawn and confront them. Professor Lovejoy's packages dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Good afternoon, ladies," one of them said in a rasping voice. "Been doing a spot of shopping, have we?" He stopped directly in front of Professor McGonagall. "Not a word, Professor. I doubt the likes of you needs a wand to do magic, and I've no wish to be transformed into a teacup or a pincushion, thank you very much."

Professor McGonagall peered under his hood, trying to see his face, but his hood was pulled far forward and his face was in darkness. "I know you, don't I?" she said. "Your voice is familiar. A former student--Slytherin, no doubt?"

He tsk'd. "You'd best hope it doesn't suddenly come to you, Professor--for your own safety, you understand." He motioned to the others, who moved to surround the two women. Professor Lovejoy stood wide-eyed and silent.

"And just look who we have here," said the leader, reaching out to grasp her wrist. "As I live and breathe, here is Severus Snape's light-o'-love her very self. Just who I was looking for."

He whipped his head around just as Professor McGonagall withdrew her wand from her pocket, where she had managed to sneak her hand unnoticed. "_Petrificus totalus_!" he shouted, brandishing his own wand at her. She gasped, stiffened, and fell over backward, completely immobilized. The leader returned his attention to Professor Lovejoy, who exclaimed in horror at this treatment of her elderly friend and immediately started toward her. The leader stepped in front of her, blocking her way. He laughed at her attempts to push past him and, when he didn't move, to kick him.

"Oh, you think so, do you?" he chuckled. He gestured toward Professor McGonagall, who stared skyward with unseeing eyes. "I can treat you to the same, if you insist," he rasped. "But it would be so much better if you arrived in...mint condition."

He motioned for the others to gather round. From somewhere he produced an old derby hat which apparently was to serve as a Portkey, and each of them put a hand on the brim. He forced Professor Lovejoy's hand onto the hat, and she felt the familiar jolt behind her navel that was characteristic of this mode of travel. Colors streaked past as she was whisked to an unknown destination.

In moments she was regaining her feet and her balance. She looked around. They were in some sort of hall--a mansion or possibly a small castle, she thought. But where? And why?

One by one the Death Eaters removed their masks. She recognized Lucius Malfoy and assumed the delicate, dark-haired woman next to him was his wife Narcissa; she didn't know any of the others.

"Where are we?" she asked, trying to sound confident but not really succeeding. "Why have you brought me here?"

The leader bowed. "All in good time. Someone wishes to see you, so we brought you to him."

"Who?" she asked. She was afraid she knew the answer--after all, these were Death Eaters--but she couldn't make herself believe it. This could not be happening. It was almost time for dinner, which she had planned to eat with--

"Severus," she said softly.

"No--not Snape, although I'm sure His Lordship would like to discuss him with you," the leader said. "Come along, now. We mustn't keep him waiting."

"Him _who_?" shot back Professor Lovejoy. The leader, however, merely smiled and shook his head, pulling her along with him to a large chair in front of the fire.

A thin, cold voice came from the depths of the chair. "Trillium Lovejoy. Come round where I can see you." When she didn't immediately obey, the leader pushed her around in front of the chair. She cringed, not sure what sort of monstrosity she was about to behold.

At first glance it seemed nothing so awful after all. A man sat in the large wing chair. He was tall, thin, and perfectly bald. He looked old and frail--until he pushed back the hood of his robe and she saw his eyes. They were little more than slits, and of a chilling blood-red. Her heart was pounding, but other than the fact of her having been kidnapped, she was not certain whether she was in any immediate danger. She didn't underestimate either Voldemort's powers or his probable evil intentions, but she felt she owed it to herself, and to Snape, not to let the Dark Lord see her fear.

She lifted her chin proudly. "Voldemort." She mimicked his expressionless stare. Moments passed while neither spoke.

"Well? What have you to say to me?" he said finally.

She frowned. "I? I have nothing to say. You brought me here. Presumably you have a reason other than simply to waste my time."

"Show some respect to your betters," growled the leader.

She snorted. "Betters? What nonsense."

"_Enough_," hissed Voldemort. "Avery. Leave us." The Death Eater opened his mouth to object, then thought better of it and quietly left the room. Voldemort contemplated Professor Lovejoy in silence for a bit longer; she recognized this as one of Snape's own favorite ploys to intimidate people, so she stared back, a look of boredom on her face. She sensed icy little tendrils in her head and knew he was not sitting there idly, as it seemed, but exploring her thoughts, looking for bits of useful information he could pick out of her brain. She deliberately fixed a vision of the lake in her mind, trying to keep all other thoughts out in order not to inadvertently give him something he could use.

He chuckled. It was a high, thin sound, like fingernails on a blackboard, and she winced. "You think to keep me out? You can't, you know. One way or another, I will have what I want from you."

Somewhat to her surprise, Professor Lovejoy felt her initial shock and fear wearing off, leaving in its place annoyance and frustration. No doubt this is what caused her to speak more sharply to Voldemort than perhaps she should have.

"Instead of poking and prying like a common sneak thief," she said incautiously, "why don't you just tell me what it is you want to know?" He gave a small start of surprise, quickly subdued, but not before she saw. "How do you ever get anything done if all you do is throw out hints and innuendos? You may be able to read minds, Voldemort, but the rest of us poor mortals--" sarcastically-- "don't have that ability. So if you want to know something, you'll have to say so. Don't waste my time playing silly games."

Her attitude seemed merely to amuse him. "Very well, then. What I wish to know is this: what exactly is the nature of your relationship to Severus Snape?"

The question wasn't what Professor Lovejoy had expected. "Severus?" she repeated. She had a momentary picture of him in her mind, tenderly looking down at her right before he kissed her. Ruthlessly she banished the thought and replaced it with a mental picture of the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.

Voldemort made a strange sound which possibly was intended as laughter. His eyes ran slowly up and down her person, and she shuddered at the unspeakable thoughts that came to her. He spoke again.

"Fool! Be assured I have no interest in your person. Give me your answer."

She answered with a question of her own. "Why do you want to know?"

"You are trying my patience," he snarled. "Tell me what I want to know, or suffer."

Professor Lovejoy had not been an Auror for nothing. During her years of service to the Ministry she had seen plenty of suffering caused by Voldemort and his minions. She had seen the physical consequences of his attentions many times; the pain, she thought she could imagine. She didn't believe she was a coward, but still she dreaded what was inevitably about to follow. Because of course she would give him nothing willingly. She only hoped her own will proved strong enough to withstand whatever he was going to do to her. She gathered her courage and stood ready.

"You truly are predictable, Tom," she said, calling him by the name she knew he hated--the name of his weak human father that had been bestowed on him. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you." She waited calmly for the storm. She had had training in resisting the Imperious curse, but more experienced witches and wizards than she had fallen before the Cruciatus. Neville's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom--Aurors themselves--were prime examples.

Voldemort didn't disappoint her. He rose to tower over her, arms folded inside the sleeves of his robe. "You leave me no choice," he said flatly. So fast that she didn't see it happen, his bony hand appeared in front of him, gripping his wand. Professor Lovejoy tensed. "_Crucio_!"

She had been wrong about the pain. It was unimaginable. It was everywhere--inside of her, surrounding her--she _was_ the pain. It was impossible to fight against this, and she wasn't sure she could even manage to endure it. She tried to think of Snape, of her Auror training--but she couldn't think at all. She felt herself spin away into nothingness, like water down a drain. She screamed once, a high, quavering sound that wrapped her in echoes as she fell into endless Dark.


	14. Out of the Frying Pan

CHAPTER 14

Out of the Frying Pan

Snape arrived at the Great Hall as everyone was gathering for dinner. He looked around eagerly but saw that he had arrived before Professor Lovejoy. He passed a few minutes making small talk with an astonished Madam Hooch; the students were mostly seated by now, but there was no sign of Professor Lovejoy. Dumbledore waved to him, catching his eye. Snape got up and went up the table to him.

"Any word from Trillium this afternoon, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired.

Snape shook his head. "No. When she left, she said she'd see me at dinner." He glanced down the table. "Minerva isn't here yet, either. They went to Hogsmeade together--but surely they should be back by now?" The first faint prickles of disquiet slithered down his spine.

Dumbledore motioned toward the students. "Why don't I get them started on dinner, then you and I will go and see what we can find out?" He gave Snape a reassuring smile and rose, holding his hands up for quiet. The buzz of talk gradually quieted.

"Another day nearly over," he said. "Only one more day until the weekend--and the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." Applause followed, accompanied by some good-natured whoops. "No doubt you all have homework to complete before bed--so tuck in, everyone!" The serving plates up and down each table filled with food, and appetites sharpened by outdoor activities were soon being busily satisfied.

Dumbledore gestured to Snape, who followed him into the staff lounge. Dumbledore said, "Let us just pop in on Rosmerta and see what she knows." Both men took a pinch of Floo powder from a small jar atop the fireplace mantel. Dumbledore went first.

"The Three Broomsticks!" he cried, and was rapidly obscured by swirling green flames. When they died down, Snape took his turn, finding himself mere moments later stepping out into the taproom of Rosmerta's inn. Dumbledore was at the bar, talking to her urgently.

As Snape joined them he heard her say, "Heavens, no, Albus. They've been gone for well over an hour and a half. Minerva commented on the time and said they'd need to hurry if they were to be back at Hogwarts in time for dinner." She looked worried. "Do you--do you think something's happened to them?"

Dumbledore straightened. "I do not know, Rosmerta. I think Severus and I will walk back to Hogwarts and see if we can find any sign of them." He turned and took Snape's elbow. "Come, Severus, let us make haste." They made their way out into the lingering light of the late-afternoon sun and started down the road to the castle.

As they rounded the bend and the last of the Hogsmeade buildings disappeared from view, it suddenly seemed a great deal darker. The sun was down behind tree-level and the road lay in shadow. Snape and Dumbledore walked briskly; much of the day's warmth had disappeared along with the light.

Suddenly Dumbledore exclaimed in surprise. Someone lay just ahead of them in the middle of the road. Both men broke into a run, Dumbledore's agility taking Snape by surprise.

When they got closer, they saw that the still figure was none other than Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore panted to a halt and said breathlessly, "Looks like--she's been--immobilized." He looked around, but no one else was in sight.

Snape took out his wand and pointed it with shaking hands at Professor McGonagall, snapping, "_Finite incantatem_!" She shuddered and gasped, then groaned in pain. Relieved that she was at least conscious, Dumbledore bent to help her up with Snape's assistance.

"Albus," she said weakly, clutching his arm. "Albus--they have Trillium." She looked at Snape. "I'm so sorry, Severus--they took us quite by surprise."

"And 'they' are...?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Death Eaters. Six of them. They all had hoods on so I didn't recognize any of them, but I think that fool Avery was their leader. Oh, Albus," she said, and her voice cracked. "How could I have let this happen? I dread thinking what they might do to her."

Dumbledore patted her hand. "Nonsense, Minerva, you couldn't have known this would happen." He looked at both of them. "We must get back to Hogwarts immediately and, I think, summon the Order. They must be told about this." He regarded Professor McGonagall skeptically. "Do you think you can walk, Minerva? That must have been quite a tumble you took."

Gingerly she took a few steps, grimacing with discomfort. "Nothing broken, thank goodness. I believe I'll live. I may not be able to go very quickly, however. Perhaps you two should go on ahead. It's not far, and I can catch up."

"Absolutely not, Minerva. I won't hear of it. I don't want you out here walking alone in the dark." Dumbledore pulled out his wand and shot a large stream of red sparks into the sky. "There. That should summon help. In the mean time we'll start walking--if you're sure you're up to it?" She nodded distractedly.

Snape rounded up the parcels Professor Lovejoy had dropped, and they began a slow progress toward Hogwarts.

A sudden sound of hoofbeats came from up ahead. A centaur appeared in the dim light, coming from the direction of the school. As he approached, they saw that it was Firenze. He trotted up and bowed to them politely.

"I saw the sparks," he said. "May I be of some assistance?" They told him what had happened, and his brow lowered in anger.

"Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest?" he exclaimed. "That is something I hoped never to see." He regarded Professor McGonagall with grave concern. "Madam, I would normally not suggest this, but I am not so proud as I once was--and you do seem in dire need. I would be honored if you would allow me to carry you back to the castle." Professor McGonagall did look exhausted from her ordeal. After a brief hesitation, she accepted.

"It is I who am honored, Firenze," she assured him. "I am well aware that your people do not lightly grant such privileges to humans." She looked up at him, unsure of how to proceed. "Er--how should I--can you just--er--"

Immediately grasping her dilemma, Firenze sank to his knees and allowed her to clamber awkwardly onto his back and sit "sidesaddle"--albeit, of course, without a saddle. He lunged awkwardly back up and she gasped a little, unsure of where to hold on.

"Never fear, madam, I will not let you fall," he assured her. "We shall go at a walk. I daresay you will hardly notice you are moving." He started down the road, and she found it was true. It was not so different from riding a horse, but there was even less rocking motion, so she felt quite secure not holding onto anything at all. This was fortunate, because she could never have insulted Firenze with any suggestion of reins or a saddle.

Soon they were at the school gates. The sun had disappeared completely behind the western hills, and the road was in deep shadow. As they approached Hagrid's hut they saw him striding down from the castle. He gaped in amazement as the little procession drew nearer and he could see Professor McGonagall riding on Firenze's broad back.

"Good evening, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, as if they had just been out for a leisurely stroll. "There's been some trouble, and Firenze has graciously offered to help." He explained as they continued on to the castle, Hagrid exclaiming in horror as the story was related.

At the castle entrance Firenze halted and Hagrid assisted Professor McGonagall to dismount.

"Thank you, Firenze," she said gratefully as the centaur turned to leave. "I appreciate your help more than I can say." He inclined his shaggy head in acknowledgement and moved off briskly, disappearing into the deepening shadows.

Snape and Dumbledore proceeded to the Headmaster's office, where Dumbledore quickly dispatched owls to the Order members. As the last one flew out of his window into the moonless night, he sighed.

"Alas, Severus, I'm afraid we can no longer wait for Voldemort's summons," he said. "We must decide on some other way to proceed. At once. We mustn't leave Trillium to the Dark Lord's mercies any longer than absolutely necessary." He looked sympathetically at Snape, who still looked rather dazed by all that had occurred.

Dumbledore turned and went over to him, putting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Severus?" he said gently.

Snape looked at him with eyes full of misery. "It's my fault," he said, his voice barely audible. "I should have known better than to give him anything he could use against me. I had no right to risk her life. None at all. I've been a self-absorbed, self-indulgent fool." He closed his eyes, imagining things too horrible to bear. "What if--if he--"

"Calm yourself, Severus," Dumbledore said bracingly. "Come sit by the fire, that's it. Now, then--let us consider this rationally." He bustled about, fetching a teapot and pouring Snape a large mug of hot tea. Then he took the chair across from him, stretching his legs out so his feet were only inches from the fire. Snape huddled into his robe, staring mesmerized at the flames.

"First of all, Severus--Severus!" Dumbledore waited until he had Snape's attention. "First of all," he repeated sternly, "this is not your fault. Very noble of you to say so and all, but 'tisn't the least bit true. You can blame yourself for Voldemort's actions if you insist, I suppose, but I don't advise it."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore forestalled him with a raised hand. "You are going to say that if you hadn't fallen in love with Trillium this wouldn't have happened--yes?" Snape nodded miserably. Dumbledore snorted.

"Pish-posh. Since when are you, of all the people Voldemort holds grudges against, the only one not allowed to love? To have a normal life? Friends and, yes, lovers? Dozens of them, if you've a mind to." Snape looked at him incredulously. "Well--I'm not saying you'd want to, mind. It's just that you seem to have decided you shouldn't have in your life any of the good things that make living worthwhile. You've deprived yourself of a normal life for far too long. I for one am heartily glad you and Trillium are--ahem--involved. I think she's good for you."

"But it doesn't go both ways, does it?" Snape said quietly. "I'm not good for her. In fact," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness, "I'm about the worst thing for her. Just look what it's led to." He pounded the arm of his chair. "She's in mortal danger--she might even be dead. And all because she loves me." He closed his eyes but couldn't shut out the pictures of what could be happening to Trillium even now, while he sat here safely at Dumbledore's fireside. His eyes snapped open.

"I can't wait for the Order," he said desperately. "I need to find her--now."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We don't know where she is yet, my boy. No point haring off on a wild goose chase. We need something to go on. I should think Voldemort's summons should be coming at any time now, don't you? He surely knows that Trillium has been missed by now, and that Minerva will have told us what happened. I think it won't be long before he sends his summons, and then we can act."

Snape rose and paced restlessly before the fire. "It galls me to sit here doing nothing," he said tightly. "When Trillium is suffering Merlin only knows what at his hands. Or at the hands of his Death Eaters," he said, remembering the salacious way in which Lucius Malfoy had looked at her. His jaw clenched and he paced faster.

"Severus! Sit down," coaxed Dumbledore. "You'll wear yourself out and be no good to anyone when we need you. Come and eat something. We missed dinner, if you recall. You must keep up your strength." He subsided as Snape resumed his seat, looking disinterestedly at the plate of food that appeared in front of him with a wave of Dumbledore's wand.

Snape wondered dully where they had taken Trillium. What was she doing right now? Was she all right? He tried not to wonder if she was still alive; if he didn't ask the question, the answer couldn't be "no". He ate mechanically, not tasting a thing.

Dumbledore watched him out of the corner of his eye while eating his own supper. He knew exactly what was going through Snape's mind but could offer him little comfort. In truth, Trillium could be dead by now, although he thought it unlikely. He imagined Voldemort would let her live at least until he had Snape within reach. After that, however...it was anyone's guess. He sighed quietly and tried to be patient while they waited for the Order to gather and Voldemort to summon his Death Eaters. He thought it might be a long night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dumbledore started awake some time later, not sure what had woken him. The fire was nearly out and his feet were cold, so he put on another log and poked at the coals until the ash was knocked off and they began to glow. He peered about but did not see Snape, so he got up to investigate.

He found Snape on one of the side stairways leading up to Dumbledore's personal observatory, browsing among the bookshelves lining the stairs.

"Nothing yet?" Dumbledore inquired. Snape shook his head. "Some tingling, no more. I was feeling restless, so..." He indicated the books. "I took the liberty of looking at some of your books. I hope you don't mind."

Dumbledore waved his hand at the apology. "My dear fellow," he said mildly, "think nothing of it. You are more than welcome to explore. Even I don't know everything that's here." He smiled. "Not even after more than thirty years' worth of rainy Sunday afternoons."

He left Snape to it and walked to his desk, where he sat going through rolls of parchment and making notations on some of them. Before long he was engrossed in his work.

Snape had just returned The Salem Witch Trials: A Personal Account to the shelf when, with no warning, the mark on his arm began to burn. He gave an involuntary shocked cry and stared down at the mark, which had turned black.

Dumbledore had risen and was looking at him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles, blue eyes alert. "Severus?" he asked.

Snape looked up, an expression of dread on his face. "It's time," he said. "They are summoned to Malfoy Manor." He rubbed his wrist in an attempt to ease the burning pain. He had always wondered, as Voldemort sent forth his many summonses over the years since Snape had left him, whether he deliberately caused Snape to feel more pain than his more loyal servants--he didn't remember it being this painful when he had first entered the Dark Lord's service. He winced. A small way for the Dark Lord to show his displeasure with a traitor, perhaps?

Dumbledore was busy with his charmed Galleon, sending out the signal and information to the Order, members of which were presumably even now on their way to the school in response to his owls earlier in the evening. Finally he looked up.

"There," he said briskly. "That should do it. The message is for everyone to divert to Malfoy Manor. Come--let us collect Minerva and be on our way." They fastened their cloaks on and left Dumbledore's office.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them in the entrance hall. "What is your plan, Albus?" she asked. She looked very tired, as if she had not rested at all, although she had lain in bed for a few futile hours before rising to pace around her office as she waited for daybreak--or word from Dumbledore, whichever came first.

"We shall walk to the end of the drive," Dumbledore said as they stepped out into the star-studded night. "I wish to apprise Hagrid of the situation; then we'll Apparate from outside the gates." They hurried down the sloping lawn to Hagrid's hut.

Dumbledore climbed the front stairs but the door opened before he could knock. Hagrid's bulk was framed by firelight from the interior.

"Evenin', Dumbledore," he rumbled. "Ready to go, are you?" He closed the door behind him and stumped down the steps to join them.

Snape looked askance at him, then at Dumbledore. "He's not going with us, surely?" he demanded.

Hagrid was usually even-tempered, but he knew when he'd been insulted. He bristled, but Dumbledore raised a hand quellingly. "This is not the time for petty insults," he said evenly. Hagrid looked somewhat mollified, and Snape rolled his eyes in disgust.

Dumbledore continued, "Hagrid's job is to see to Harry's safety whilst we are gone, merely as a precaution." To Hagrid he said, "I do not know how long that may be, you understand. I will send word if there is any opportunity--but you must be prepared for the worst. You know what to do if we should not return. I'm relying on you, Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded slowly. "O' course, Dumbledore, sir. I won't forget. Harry'll be safe with me--you can trust me."

Dumbledore smiled and grasped Hagrid's arm. "I never doubted it," he said warmly. He turned to Snape and Professor McGonagall. "Let us be off."

They turned and walked the short distance to the great iron gates. As they stepped through, Dumbledore turned to look back at Hagrid, raising a hand briefly in farewell. In the next instant he, Professor McGonagall, and Snape had Disapparated, leaving behind them only the empty road and a bemused Hagrid.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Malfoy Manor was located far to the south of Hogwarts in the countryside of Kent. It was isolated, which suited its owners perfectly. As with residences of many other magical folk, various charms had been placed on it to make it appear unappealing and uninteresting to Muggles. The mansion itself was enormous, and to the casual passerby it appeared to be in an advanced state of decrepitude.

The owners (no one could say just who they were) had long been rumored to live in another country (but no one knew where, exactly) and to have no interest whatsoever in selling the Manor or developing the extensive property attached to it. Many an estate agent had eyed said property with an acquisitive eye over the decades of Malfoy ownership, but as no one authorized to deal on the owners' behalf could ever be reached directly, the agents eventually gave up, disappointed but resigned.

Snape, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore Apparated in a small copse of trees behind the manor house. Members of the Order and several Aurors were already there, waiting to put the plan into action.

Kingsley Shacklebolt said quietly, "It seems likely they'll be expecting us. Be careful. At the smallest sign of anyone discovering you, immobilize first and ask questions later. A full body-bind is preferable if at all possible; we hope to transport as many Death Eaters as we can to the Ministry to stand trial."

He lowed his voice still further, so that the others had to strain to hear him. "Our goal for tonight's mission is twofold: one, to delivery Trillium Lovejoy to safety; and two, to disable and remove as many Death Eaters as possible." He looked at them sternly. "What we do not need is any dead heroes. I can not stress the need for caution strongly enough. I believe it very likely that Voldemort himself is here; so the more quickly we can accomplish our goals and leave this place, the better chance we all will have of surviving to fight another day."

Dumbledore said, "You all know what to do. Off with you, now." In twos and threes the group dispersed toward different entrances to the house. Dumbledore looked at Snape.

"Find her, Severus. But do not let your desire for vengeance blind you to danger. It is very important that you not face Voldemort alone, in this time and place with so many of his supporters present. Go in--find Trillium--get out. As soon as you have her safe, take her back to Hogwarts." Snape nodded once, his mind already on the task at hand, and he moved off into the shadows surrounding the house.

Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Kingsley remained hidden in the trees, gauging the silence. There were no outward signs that anything untoward was happening inside the house.

"I feel useless, standing about out here," Kingsley said. "What if they need help? I'm responsible for my Aurors, at the very least." He tapped his wand absently against the palm of his hand, looking longingly toward the house.

Dumbledore said, "I, too, would far rather be in the thick of things than out here, merely, as you say, awaiting the outcome. However, we do have a purpose. No Death Eater will escape from the house while we stand guard."

Professor McGonagall drew her cloak about her more closely and shivered. Dumbledore took her arm solicitously. "Are you quite sure you ought to have come, Minerva? You've had quite a day of it already. After all, none of us is as young as we used to be."

She threw him a wry look. "Speak for yourself, Albus. I always say you're only as old as you feel." She sighed ruefully and admitted, "Unfortunately, I feel about two hundred years old tonight."

Dumbledore chuckled. The three of them took seats on one of the many fallen trees littering the small wood and prepared to stand watch, the last line of defense and a formidable barrier to any Death Eater hoping to escape capture by the forces of the Light.


	15. Into the Fire

CHAPTER 15

Into the Fire

Snape moved stealthily to the house. He walked around the corner and along the side of the house until he came to a small side door, likely a seldom-used servants' entrance. He tested the knob; it was locked.

Grasping his wand firmly, he whispered, "_Alohomora_!" and heard a muffled click. He tried the knob again and it turned smoothly. Wincing in anticipation of the door creaking, he pushed it open slowly; but it made no noise. Lucius Malfoy's attention to detail and demand for excellent service apparently extended even to the oiling of hinges on obscure outer doors.

The door led into a narrow corridor, lit only by a single candle halfway down its length. Immediately inside the door was a narrow servants' stairway leading up. Snape shut the door, then paused to listen. There were no sounds in his immediate vicinity, although somewhere above he heard a door close and brisk purposeful footsteps heading down a corridor away from him.

He advanced slowly down the corridor, wand drawn. There were what appeared to be niches at regular intervals along the corridor, covered by draperies. He noted absently that the velvet here was in much better condition than that of the Grimmauld Place draperies. He was not sure of the purpose for the niches and assumed they held statuary or artwork, but upon investigation he saw that they were shallow alcoves with windows.

He paused for a moment as he reached the corner, wondering where Professor Lovejoy was most likely to be kept. If Voldemort really was in residence, he reasoned, it was unlikely that she would be treated as a guest. At best she would be imprisoned somewhere in the house. Simple: he need only avoid running afoul of any Death Eaters while he searched for her! But at worst--no, he refused to speculate in that direction. Besides, he reluctantly admitted to himself, there were so many scenarios that could qualify for "worst", he wouldn't know where to begin.

The sound of approaching voices intruded on his musings. Snape glanced about frantically, but the only possible hiding place was the nearest window alcove. He quickly stepped behind the velvet drapery, making certain his boots did not protrude. Barely breathing, he waited for the unknown speakers to pass.

A man's voice said, "Never mind, my pet. Soon he will have what he wants, and then most likely he will move on. You know he never stays in one place for long." It was Lucius Malfoy.

Snape recognized Narcissa's voice next. She sounded petulant. "But, Lucius, we can't even use our own conservatory. And such plans as I had for tonight, my love." She purred lasciviously, and they stopped immediately in front of the alcove where Snape, an unwilling eavesdropper, stood hidden. There were kissing noises accompanied by throaty sounds of pleasure from Narcissa. Snape rolled his eyes. Merlin's beard--were they going to make love right there in the corridor?

Lucius spoke again. "I look forward to seeing what you have in mind. But in the mean time we shall have to make do with some other location--the formal gardens, perhaps?"

Narcissa giggled. "Oh, yes, Lucius," she said breathlessly. "You know what making love outdoors does to me." More intimate noises followed. Snape gritted his teeth.

"But--Lucius--what if His Lordship needs us?" Narcissa asked suddenly.

Lucius snorted. "I think Avery can look after him for a few hours. Come--let's not waste any more time," he urged. They continued down the hall at a faster pace, running down the servants' stairway and out of the door.

Snape waited in the alcove until he heard the door shut. Cautiously he pulled the drapery aside and peered down the corridor. No one was there, and he heard no one approaching. He considered for a moment. He had only been here once before, soon after he had become a Death Eater. He vaguely recalled bits and pieces about the layout of the manor. He wondered why the Malfoys were avoiding the conservatory and decided to see what he could find out there.

He sped on silent feet to the next corner and turned right, toward the rear of the house, where he remembered the conservatory being. It was very large, housing a private jungle that Narcissa Malfoy was quite proud of. She had collected hundreds of exotic and dangerous plants--a fitting environment for Narcissa, herself akin to a sleek, bloodthirsty jungle cat.

Snape wondered how far he would get before someone opened a door and caught him or he walked around a corner and met a group of Death Eaters. But the house kept its secrets well; there was no sound of conversation, no sign of any inhabitants. Snape almost wondered if there were some mistake and Professor Lovejoy was not here after all. But no--the Malfoys had said Voldemort was here, and if Trillium was indeed the bait in a trap to catch Snape, she was no doubt here somewhere.

His noise picked up the humid scent of soil and organic matter. He must be close to the conservatory. He continued until he reached an open door and paused to listen. Unlike the empty corridors in other parts of the house, the vast expanse of vegetation inside was never completely silent. There was a constant soft rustling, as of a soft breeze blowing among treetops and setting leaves in motion. As Snape stepped inside, the heavy humidity enveloped him like a cloak. There was a strange feeling of life, immutable and relentless, in the very air.

There was something else here as well. He couldn't put a name to it, but there was a certain sense within the silence that spoke of another presence--waiting as he was waiting, and aware that he was here.

Snape moved hesitantly along the paving stones leading further into the conservatory. The doorway was soon lost to sight among the dense foliage of the plants and artfully trailing vines, but he had only to look up to see the starry night sky through the glass roof. A few of the roof panels were open to maintain a careful balance of humidity.

He stopped to listen again. Had something rustled beyond that row of bushes? The oppressive atmosphere made it easy to imagine sounds that weren't really there. He moved forward again and came to a low stone wall. He stepped up to it and realized it was the edge of a raised pool; the stars were reflected patchily among the lilies growing over its surface.

Then it came again--a sort of slithering noise. It came from nowhere, and everywhere. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and the sweat caused by the room's humidity chilled suddenly on his body. Snape was no coward, but he had an aversion to snakes that was every bit as desperate as Ron's fear of spiders. An odd thing, for a Slytherin, but there you were. He wished he dared to make a bit of light, but it wouldn't be wise. He'd been amazingly lucky to get this far without detection.

Snape edged around the pond, pushing his way further into the lush growth. A new scent joined the rich mix of vegetation and soil; something far less appealing that carried a hint of putrefaction and oily, sluggish rot. A whiff of death. It grew stronger by the moment, wafting to his nostrils on pulsing waves of humidity.

Suddenly he emerged into a clear space at the center of the conservatory. In spite of himself, he blanched at the sight that met his eyes. A broad white marble block, veined with gold that sparkled faintly in the starlight, stood atop a tiered stone platform. On the marble block lay the crumpled form of Trillium Lovejoy.

But what drew Snape's eye was the thing that lay at the foot of the block--the glistening coils of Voldemort's most faithful servant, the giant serpent Nagini. The snake was coiled about the marble block, its red, reptilian eyes fixed unwaveringly upon Snape. Its presence was something he had not planned on. However, although Voldemort was a Parseltongue and could actually speak with Nagini, Snape had never seen any evidence of a psychic connection between them. If his luck was holding, perhaps his presence was still undetected by the Dark Lord.

Snape and the serpent gazed at each other. Snape was about twenty feet away--a safe enough distance while the serpent remained coiled around the block--but still much closer than he liked. He assessed the situation.

There certainly was no easy way to get to Trillium. Snape thought fleetingly of Potter's Invisibility Cloak and wished he had it now, but he thought Nagini might be able to sense his presence even with the cloak. He supposed he could levitate, or perhaps Apparate on top of the marble block, lift Trillium into his arms, and Apparate to somewhere else. But the chances of his being able to do so before Nagini reached him were almost nonexistent. So he remained where he was, frantic with worry for Trillium but uncertain how to proceed. Nagini seemed prepared to stay where she was for as long as it took for Snape to put a foot wrong; Snape knew he must come up with a better plan, one that did not end in his becoming a snake-snack.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Molly and Arthur Weasley felt it best to split up and go with different groups when they entered the house. "So the children won't be left orphans, should the worst happen," Arthur said solemnly. "Although of course it won't," Molly hastened to add. But as they looked into each other's eyes they knew that, of course, the worst could happen. The very fact of the attack on the professors, taking place as it had almost within sight of Hogwarts, was evidence of how bold the Death Eaters had become. It was as if they feared no repercussions--as if they were ridiculing the Ministry and all the forces of Light, daring them to do their worst.

A group consisting of Molly and Bill Weasley ("Look after your mother," Arthur told him quietly, and Bill clasped his hand in silent pledge) and Tonks made their way round to the front of the house. For the occasion, Tonks had actually dyed her hair a comparatively normal color--dead black--so as to be less visible. It looked awful on her, as dyed-black hair so often does. It made her face stand out in stark contrast and appear an unhealthy, pasty white. Molly resolved to have a private word with the girl about her hair-coloring escapades at the earliest opportunity.

Bill motioned for them to halt and pointed to an open ground-floor window beside the imposing front entrance. "I'll climb in," he mouthed. "Wait here--" He indicated the shrubbery beneath the window. "I'll open the front door for you." Tonks bent and laced her fingers together, giving him a leg-up. She and Molly waited anxiously as he landed briefly on the windowsill--then, the coast clear, he disappeared inside the darkened room.

Tonks vaulted lightly over the railing and onto the front stairs and tiptoed up to the heavy wooden door. She put her ear against it but could hear nothing. She waved to Molly to join her, but Molly pointed to where she stood and urgently mouthed, "Wait!" Tonks ignored her and gripped the latch. She squeezed gently. Just as it began to yield, it was swept from her grasp and the door swung open from the inside. Molly's hand went to her throat. Tonks' heart nearly stopped.

But it was only Bill, come to let them in. He gave a violent start upon seeing Tonks standing there. Furious, he grabbed her by the front of her robe and yanked her into the house. "Stay put!" he motioned angrily. He turned back to wave his mother up the stairs; she was already running lightly up to the door. As soon as she was inside, Bill swung the door shut. Then he turned to face Tonks, hands on hips.

"What on earth did you think you were doing?" he demanded, barely whispering. Tonks opened her mouth to answer, but before she could get a sound out, Bill planted a hard kiss on her lips. Tonks and Molly looked equally shocked. Tonks looked as if she was interested in pursuing this wholly unexpected line of activity, but a sharp little smack on both their heads from Molly brought them back to reality. Bill took Tonks' hand firmly in his, and the three of them continued across the foyer and started up the stairway leading to the gallery.

Just as they reached the top, a Death Eater emerged from a door in the middle of the gallery. He started in surprise at sight of them and opened his mouth to cry out. Immediately three wands were at the ready with silent Stunning spells, and he fell limply to the carpet. Bill dragged him hurriedly to a window seat that lay in darkness at the end of the gallery and hid him behind the velvet drapery. Before leaving him there he whispered, "_Petrificus totalus_!" He was taking no chances on the Death Eater recovering from being Stunned and going anywhere, any time soon.

They watched the doorway from which the Death Eater had appeared apprehensively as they edged past it to one of the side corridors, but no one else came out. The side corridor was quite long and very dim; light showed under two of the doors along its length. The trio reversed direction for a moment and crammed into an empty window seat, Molly keeping watch through a gap in the drapery. An hushed but intense conversation ensued.

"There are still people awake up here," Molly objected. "For all we know, there are people behind every one of those doors. Perhaps even You-Know-Who. We should wait for them to come out and take them one at a time, not go bursting into the rooms. Only think of the noise--we're liable to alert the whole house."

Bill disagreed. "But it's late, and most of them are probably in their rooms for the night. There's no guarantee anyone's going to come out this late. That could take all night and then some."

Molly looked at him and winked. "Oh, I think they will," she said. "Watch this." She thrust aside the velvet drape and stepped into the corridor. "Come on," she whispered. Mystified, Bill and Tonks shrugged at each other and followed.

Molly stopped outside the first door that showed a strip of light at the bottom. Finger to her lips, she grinned at them, then bent down and waved her wand near the gap under the door. As they watched, a thin ribbon of something that looked like smoke issued from the tip of her wand and wafted under the door. After a moment she straightened up and whispered, "Get ready, now!"

There was a surprised feminine murmur from inside the room, followed by an annoyed-sounding masculine reply. The female voice became querulous, and the male voice grunted. There was the sound of a bed creaking and then stomping footsteps crossing to the door. As it opened, the Weasleys and Tonks waited, wands at the ready. An older Death Eater emerged, shut the door, and looked up to find the hall bathed in red light from the three Stunning spells winging their way toward his chest. He fell with a surprised look on his face, making no sound. Bill dispatched him to the window seat with their other captive, Petrifying their latest acquisition also for good measure.

He came back to the doorway and gestured questioningly. Molly nodded. She turned the doorknob and they advanced quickly into the room. A small, middle-aged woman sat at the dressing table with her back to them, brushing her hair. She had but a moment to direct a shocked look at them in her mirror before she was being Stunned and taken to join her husband in the window seat.

Bill went back to the now-vacant bedroom, where Tonks and Molly waited. "Well, at least we know one room is safe," he said softly. "Maybe we should take this lot out to Kingsley before we get too many to handle. This is going more easily than I thought it would."

Molly cautioned, "Perhaps--but let's not get careless. There are probably quite a few more Death Eaters here, especially if You-Know-Who's managed to summon most of them." They agreed to empty one more room and then deliver their captives to Kingsley.

Tonks asked, "Molly--what was it that you used to get them out of the room?"

"Oh, that." Molly looked pleased. "Just a little spell I worked out one day. It sends a stream of chocolate-chip-cookie scent right out of the tip of one's wand. I had no idea what practical use it might be, but I thought it was rather fun." She looked smug. "It worked a treat, didn't it? No one can resist the smell of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies."

Bill hugged her. "Mum, you're a wonder. Now--let's get on with it." They left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the next lighted door, the costly, thick carpet underfoot silencing their footsteps.

Molly repeated her performance with the decoy cookie scent and netted them another Death Eater. This one was even more elderly than the last pair.

"Do you think it's a bit much, all three of us Stunning them at once?" Tonks asked anxiously. "I mean, they're rather old, and...well..." She quailed at the stony looks she received from Bill and Molly.

"Tonks, dear," Molly said gently, "do you have any idea how many people have suffered--died--at the hands of these people? If they suffer a little pain in the chest from a triple Stunning spell, it's not going to kill them. Well, probably not, anyway. I really can't bring myself to feel too sorry for them if it does. Think of poor Trillium, and see if that doesn't get you past the sympathy. Or the Longbottoms--or poor Harry's parents."

Tonks nodded slowly. "You're right," she said. "Of course you are. I suppose I forgot for a moment, that's all."

Molly patted her shoulder. "That's quite all right, dear. Compassion is an excellent thing--but it's rather misplaced here."

Bill returned from hiding their most recent captive. "I say, we'd best get this group out of here before we go looking for more," he said. "No point in biting off more than we can chew. It'll be a job getting these four out of the house without anyone seeing us." The women agreed, and they stole back to their window-seat cache.

The four Death Eaters hidden there were in various stages of recovery from being Stunned, but thanks to Bill's Petrificus spell they could do no more than glare balefully at their captors. Tonks had taken the added precaution of hunting out the wands belonging to the last three and tossing them into their fireplaces.

Bill whispered, "Locomotor bodies!" and the four Death Eaters' corpse-like figures floated off the window seat to hover a short distance above the floor. Tonks, Molly, and Bill hurriedly moved them down the gallery stairs and into the foyer. It was deserted as before. Bill tugged the heavy door open and they waved the Death Eaters out into the cool night air. Bill shut the door behind them carefully and the little procession glided silently back around the house and across the sloping lawn to where Kingsley, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall waited.

Dumbledore stood as they approached. "Excellent," he murmured softly. He walked among the four Death Eaters, looking intently into their faces. "Ah, yes," he said with some satisfaction. "The Crispins, Luteo Amado, and...why, hello, Marcus," he said to the last man to be taken. To the others, he said, "Marcus Rookwood. Uncle to the Rookwood you know, and worse than his nephew ever thought of being. Good work--very good work." He beamed at them.

Kingsley stepped forward. "My turn, I think?" he said.

Dumbledore explained. "Kingsley, Minerva, and I are taking it in turns to escort our--er--guests--to the Ministry, where they are being well looked after by Ministry staff until a trial can be arranged." He stretched. "I should think that very soon they will all be securely shut up in Azkaban."

Molly wondered to herself how secure Azkaban really was, since several Death Eaters had already escaped the wizard prison once. Dumbledore interpreted her dubious look correctly.

"It was actually the Dementors who set them free last time," he said, "and the Dementors have deserted Azkaban to serve Voldemort elsewhere. Apparently even they are not above bargaining with the Dark Lord. He promised them as many souls as they wished in return for releasing his Death Eaters. I believe the fate he intends for all of us is the Dementor's kiss." His usually amiable features were grim. "Every Death Eater we remove from Voldemort's service makes such a fate that much less likely."

"How many have been taken so far?" Tonks asked eagerly. Her enthusiasm brought Dumbledore's smile back.

"The ones you've just brought make twelve so far," he told them. "Lucius and Narcissa have not been found yet, nor the Lestranges, but Mssrs. Crabbe and Goyle turned up earlier."

"Indeed," he said, "although the capture of so many Death Eaters is of course a good thing, it does seem as if things have been almost too easy so far. There has been no resistance to capture by most of them. Also, most of them have been the older members. It does make one wonder just a little. However, I can say that everyone on our side seems to be doing splendidly--no casualties of any kind. I have not yet seen Severus, but everyone else has reported back at least once."

Dumbledore turned his head sharply as a faint sound of laughter came to them on the breeze. His eyes narrowed. "I believe," he said, "we may have found the Malfoys. Would you three care to...?"

Molly, Bill, and Tonks agreed at once. Hoods up to keep the bright starlight from reflecting off their pale faces, they crept toward the sounds of merriment issuing from the formal gardens off to one side of the house.

"What on earth can they be doing?" Tonks muttered under her breath. Bill glanced at her warningly, not wanting any hint of voices to reach their quarry. It seemed they didn't have to worry; the woman's laughter sounded again, closer now.

"Luuucius," she called. "Where are you?" Flirtatious giggles. "Naughty boy, to hide from Narcissa. Come out and play, Lucius."

"Yes, do, Lucius," muttered Bill. As he uttered the words, there was a bright flash of green and a cry of "_Avada kedavra_!" Bill dived to the ground in time to avoid it, but a strangled cry came from a few feet away. He looked around wildly, but Tonks and Molly were both safe, having seen Lucius emerge from behind a hedge just in time to duck. They looked at each other, wondering who had screamed.

A moment later, a roar of fury came from Malfoy as he realized what he had done. Bill rose cautiously from behind the low wall where he had taken cover. He saw Malfoy standing a few feet away, Narcissa's lifeless form in his arms.

Immediately Bill sent a Stunner flying at Malfoy and arrived, panting, just in time to Petrify him. Malfoy's grief and rage were so powerful that the Stunning spell alone had hardly affected him, and everyone breathed a bit more easily once he was completely immobilized.

Bill said, "No one inside can miss all the ruckus going on out here. Let's hurry and get him to Dumbledore." But, strangely, no one did come running to investigate the disturbance, a fact that was more disturbing than comforting.

The noise had, however, drawn the other teams of Aurors and Order members back to the gathering spot, curious as to what was happening. Everyone had to hear the story and see Lucius Malfoy, Petrified and hovering in midair with a deadly look frozen on his face. Dumbledore lost not a moment. He picked up a Portkey and, grasping Malfoy's arm, said in a firm voice, "The Ministry of Magic." Without a sound they were gone.

Kingsley looked at Professor McGonagall. "I think it's time to wrap this up," he said. "Just because no one's come running to see what's going on doesn't mean there aren't more Death Eaters inside." He said, more softly, "And if You-Know-Who's here, I say we quit while we're ahead." Others agreed with him, although Tonks and some of the younger folk, energized by the late-night adventure, were inclined to want it to continue.

Professor McGonagall said worriedly, "There's still been no sign of Severus or Trillium. I think we definitely should disband, but we can't just leave not knowing what's happened to either of them."

Kingsley nodded. "Quite right, Minerva." He addressed the group tiredly. "Perhaps if one or two of you want to stay..." he said. "You've done a good night's work tonight. It'll cramp the Dark Lord's style for certain." One by one they Disapparated until Kingsley, Professor McGonagall, Molly, and Arthur were the only ones remaining. Dumbledore Apparated in their midst rather abruptly just then, and Kingsley explained that he had sent the others home.

"That's probably for the best," Dumbledore said. "Not much they can do here at the moment." He turned to look up at the great house. "I do wonder what's keeping Severus," he said. "I have a rather uneasy feeling about him."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape stared at the snake staring back at him for what seemed like hours while Trillium lay motionless on the block. He wondered if a Stunning spell would work on the snake. He'd never had occasion to try it on something so large.

A while ago, for lack of a better idea, he had tried levitating to see how the snake would react. It had risen along with him, a slow and macabre dance of sorts, until Snape was right up against the glass ceiling. Most of the snake was off the floor, rising vertically in the air--something Snape had had no idea snakes could do. He sank back to the floor, the snake descending as well, and tried to think of something else to try.

Some time later he saw a green flash off to his left, toward the formal gardens. He remembered the Malfoys' intention to go there to continue their amorous pursuits, and wondered vaguely whether one of the Order members had found death in the garden.

He looked consideringly at the snake. He wondered if the Killing Curse would do the trick. He really thought it might. He didn't care a whit that it was an illegal curse. Who was going to punish him for killing a snake--Voldemort's snake, at that? The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

The snake stirred restlessly, as if she were somehow able to divine Snape's intentions. She lifted her great head, the forked tongue flickering at regular intervals, and rose until she was at the level of the marble block. Her unblinking gaze fixed firmly on Snape's, Nagini hovered above Trillium for a moment and then settled across her motionless body, as if to say, I dare you to try it now. Snape sagged, discouraged.

Suddenly the serpent trailed off and descended to the floor, heading directly for Snape. He moved backward, almost tripping in his haste to maintain a good distance from the creature. The snake stopped--then moved forward for several more feet. Snape was frustrated by this game; it was not lost on him that he was slowly being herded away from Trillium.

In an instant he made up his mind. He raised his wand to try it. The snake halted, lifting her head to see him better. He cried, "_Avada_--" but that was as far as he got. His wand suddenly flew out of his hand.

Snape whirled, a moment too late. A tall, cadaverously thin figure stood behind him.

"Snape," hissed Voldemort. "So you have come. You have left it a bit late, have you not?" His red eyes glared at Snape. "Surely you were not intending to harm my faithful Nagini?" He glided past Snape, who could not help shrinking from contact with him as he passed, and stroked the great reptile, who rubbed her head against his hand like a macabre, oversized dog.

"So you couldn't resist my little trap, eh?" chortled Voldemort, glancing at Trillium. "Quite a toothsome morsel, I suppose. If one has a taste for that sort of thing, which I do not. Nagini, however..." He trailed off, patting the snake gently, and let the threat sink in.

Snape despised himself for giving in, but if there were any chance of Trillium getting out of this alive he was willing to do anything to give her that chance.

"Master," he began, the word sticking in his throat, "I doubt you would want her goodness--" he indicated Trillium-- "to taint your pet. I believe there is a corpse out in the garden that would be more to the serpent's taste."

Voldemort spoke dismissively. "I care not whether the creature lives or dies," he said. "She is nothing. You, however--you are something. What, exactly, are you, Snape? Someone who has denied his master, eh? Not only denied, but betrayed. Not many of my servants have displayed such rank stupidity, you know. And those who do have paid for it, as will you. Tell me, Severus: why did you betray me? What has all this--" his lip curled-- "goodness gotten you? You see you are at my mercy in the end, after all."

Snape said nothing. He had deserted Voldemort because some deeply buried shred of humanity had finally rebelled at the thought of a lifetime of the kind of servitude Voldemort required. Since he did not particularly want to end his own life, the only alternative he could see had been to join Dumbledore and the opposition. Dumbledore had no secret knowledge or bargain with Snape, as everyone believed. He simply trusted the good that he believed to be still in the man. And Snape had never let him down.

But he knew none of that interested Voldemort. All he saw was Snape's betrayal, and because of those Snape had sided with, he, Lord Voldemort, had been delayed in his rise to power. That he had eventually assumed his full powers regardless was not the point--betrayal was the point. Snape would have to pay.

"You care for her, do you not?" Voldemort said, flicking a glance at Trillium. "Foolish weakness. Humans are so frail; she is quite beyond knowing or caring for you now, you know," he said spitefully.

Snape remained expressionless, but he felt his heart crack a little. His gaze slid to Trillium against his will. Was she really dead, then?

"Not dead," Voldemort said. "Although while she was still conscious she--wished--for death." He made a sound that could have been laughter, had he been capable of such a thing. "You'll wish it for both of you before this night is over," he promised.

Almost lazily, he raised his wand. "_Crucio_," he said. Whereas with Trillium he had roared it, now he said it gently--almost, if such a thing could be said of the Dark Lord, lovingly.

Perhaps, as a result, Snape did not feel quite the same degree of pain she had felt. Still, it was bad enough: like the worst hangover, flu, motion sickness, and sunburn one could imagine. Combined. He ached everywhere, and burned with heat inside and out. His eyes hurt, and he was wracked with nausea. Gradually the pain subsided to a bearable level, and he opened his eyes to find himself curled in a tight ball on the floor. He willed his aching body to relax enough so that he could totter to his feet.

Voldemort regarded him dispassionately. "Oh, very good," he said. "You seem to be recovering nicely. If you keep this up you may just provide enough entertainment that I shall consider letting you live a bit longer." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "I'm afraid the woman didn't do nearly as well. Of course, I may have given her a rather larger dose--yes, much larger, as I recall. She was quite...insolent." His eyes gleamed with unholy amusement. "It's so difficult to get it just right every time. I suppose I don't know my own strength."

As Voldemort spoke, Snape saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Amazed, he saw Trillium rising above the foliage toward the ceiling. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked again, just in time to see her float up and out of one of the open ceiling panels, and then she moved out of his line of sight. Voldemort had not noticed; he was spouting some drivel about not knowing his own strength.

Just knowing that, somehow, Trillium was being got away to safety by the Order gave Snape the strength he needed to resist the hypnotic murmur of Voldemort's voice.

"Perhaps you don't know your own strength," he said softly. "But do you know your own weaknesses?"

Voldemort looked at him in surprise. "Weaknesses?" he repeated. "My only weakness is showing compassion where none is merited." He raised his wand again, then stopped, seeming to consider. "Perhaps it would be interesting to know what you think my weaknesses are," he sneered. "So I can amuse myself by recounting them on long winter nights in the ages to come." He looked at Snape quizzically. "Well?"

Snape heard a rustle in the bushes to his right. He started, thinking of the serpent. Then a hand touched his, squeezed it briefly, and withdrew again.

"Lost your train of thought?" Voldemort asked.

Snape cleared his throat. "No," he said, looking down and to the rear of Voldemort in an attempt to get him to look there also. "I just wondered what had become of your...little pet. I don't want it sneaking up on me." He gave a realistic shudder.

The distraction worked. Voldemort turned his head to peer behind him. "Nagini is the least of your worries," he said.

Snape felt the hand again. It took hold of his and folded it firmly around a cylindrical metal object. He heard Kingsley's voice ring out: "The Ministry of Magic!" He caught a momentary glimpse of Voldemort as he turned, saying, "What--?" and then they were arriving in the lobby of the Ministry.

"Where--?" said Snape in some confusion. "How did--"

Kingsley patted his hand. "No time now." He kept Snape's hand firmly glued to the edge of the brass vase and said, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!" Snape felt the sharp jerk in his midsection as the Portkey took them in the blink of an eye to the house at Grimmauld Place.

Kingsley sighed. "Just a bit of misdirection, should he still have anyone to send after us," he said by way of explanation. "Best if you stay here for what's left of tonight, Severus. Get some rest. Trillium's upstairs. We--er--we aren't sure yet how badly she's been affected." He nodded briskly. "We'll gather everyone here tomorrow afternoon. I must be off now. Get some sleep, and don't worry. Dumbledore seems to think she'll come out of it right enough," he said reassuringly. He Disapparated, and Snape was left staring dumbly into thin air.

He turned and shuffled slowly upstairs. It occurred to him that he was walking like an old man--at that moment he felt like one--but he didn't care. He had to see Trillium for himself before he could even thinking of sleeping.

He found her in his bed. He wondered vaguely who had chosen that room, and thought it must have been Dumbledore. The inveterate old matchmaker, he thought. Snape moved to the bedside and looked down at her. She looked so...empty, somehow. He took her hand. She didn't stir. Softly he brushed the hair back from her face, resting his palm against her cheek for a moment.

"Trillium, please come back to me," he whispered. "I--I love you." He climbed onto the bed beside her and lay with her hand in his, watching her face until exhaustion claimed him and he slept.


	16. Reprieve

CHAPTER 16

Reprieve

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat at a large table Hagrid had built outside his hut, originally to give his classes a place to prepare foods to entice the appetites of the various creatures they were learning to care for. At this particular moment it was covered in books, parchment, and other evidence of heavy homework. Hagrid had been quite insistent upon keeping Harry close by all day, and Ron and Hermione were keeping him company. All of them burned with curiosity, Hagrid having been more than usually closemouthed in response to their prying questions.

"Wonder when Hagrid'll let you out of prison," Ron speculated.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, really, Ron. It's hardly prison. He's just keeping an eye on Harry. Just...watching out for him."

"Yes," Ron persisted, "but why does Harry need an eye kept on him? Any more than usual, I mean." He sniggered as Harry glanced up from his parchment and made a face.

Hermione lowered her voice dramatically. "Well, something's going on. I don't know what it is, but--" she leaned forward conspiratorially-- "I was practicing my flying on the Quidditch pitch late last night--" She got no further before Harry and Ron interrupted.

"The Quidditch pitch?"

"Late last night?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. It's getting a lot of use in the daytime, what with Quidditch practice and flying lessons and everything, so I've--er--been going there at night." She tossed her head defiantly at the boys' incredulous looks. "What? Don't tell me you still think I'm Little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Heaven knows I've participated in enough idiotic capers with the two of you over the years."

"Well, yeah, but--by yourself?" said Ron. "You should have told us--we'd have gone with you. You shouldn't be hanging round the Quidditch pitch by yourself at night, Hermione. You'll get caught."

Hermione exhaled loudly. "Do you want to hear what I was going to tell you?" she asked sharply. "Or not?"

"Go ahead, Hermione," Harry said. "We're listening." He sent a mock-warning glance at Ron, who immediately sat up straight and folded his hands in front of him on the table, a patently false cherubic expression plastered onto his face. Hermione surveyed the two of them with deep disgust.

"Fine, then pay attention. I was flying above the Quidditch pitch--I'd gotten really quite high up, and I was a bit worried about falling--and I looked all around to make sure no one was about before I came down. I saw Dumbledore and Snape come out of the castle, so I stayed up where I was--it was pretty dark and they didn't see me, but I was afraid they would if I went any lower. They went to Hagrid's hut and talked to him for a minute, then they started down the road to Hogsmeade and Disapparated."

Ron shrugged. "So? Maybe they had business somewhere. What's so interesting about that?"

"In the middle of the night?" Hermione said. "On a school night?" It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes.

Harry said thoughtfully, "I wonder if it had anything to do with Professor McGonagall and Aunt Trillium not being at dinner last night." He still couldn't quite get used to calling Professor Lovejoy "Aunt", but he liked the sound of it. He had of course told Ron and Hermione about his new-found relative, and they had loyally kept it to themselves, feeling it was Harry's news to tell when and to whom he wished.

Hagrid rounded the corner of his hut, wiping garden soil off his hands and onto his filthy trousers. He surveyed his charges with evident satisfaction.

"And what might the three of you be thinkin' about so solemn an' all?" he inquired.

Hermione sent Harry and Ron a warning glance. "Oh, nothing," she said blithely. "Just passing the time."

"Ah." Hagrid seemed to accept this at face value, until he noticed that the boys avoided looking him in the eye. His face bunched up in a scowl of concentration. "Yeh wouldn't be up ter anythin', now, would yeh?" Three innocent faces turned to him, but he waved a large hand dismissively. "Ah, those innocent looks don't fool me," he said gruffly. "Yer always up to summat." His bright glance moved suspiciously from one pair of shifty eyes to another. "Mind, now, Dumbledore put me in charge of yeh. If aught goes wrong with yeh, it's my head'll roll." Shaking his shaggy head, he muttered, "Much yeh care about that."

"No, Hagrid, honest," Hermione said earnestly. "We're not up to anything. But--" She glanced at the boys. "We think Dumbledore and Snape might be. They were out awfully late last night, weren't they, for a school night?" She smiled engagingly.

Hagrid grunted. "Well, they had to go to Number Twelve, o' course. To see how Professor Lovejoy was gettin' along."

"Aunt Trillium?" Harry said. "What do you mean, how she's getting along? What's wrong with her?"

Hagrid smacked his forehead, marking it with a large streak of potting soil. "I shouldn't have said that; I should not have said that." He shook his head dismissively. "I'll not say another word about it. Yeh'll have to ask Dumbledore himself, if you want to know, and see if yeh can worm it out o' him. Not another word will I say!" And he bustled off, the sound of his scolding drifting back to them as he disappeared behind his hut.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at each other in consternation.

"Good heavens," Hermione finally exclaimed faintly. "Just what on earth can they be up to?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape was in a quandary. He wanted nothing more than to see Voldemort destroyed. He knew he could never completely relax or let down his guard as long as Voldemort was at large. His new-found romantic side chafed at the knowledge as the possibility of a life with Trillium Lovejoy beckoned temptingly.

Now, with more than half of his Death Eaters captured during the Order's raid on Malfoy Manor, his hostage stolen, and Snape rescued before Voldemort had been able to exact any satisfying revenge, Voldemort had to be furious, and more dangerous than ever.

Snape heard the pop! of someone Apparating nearby, followed by hushed voices in the corridor outside the library. He wasn't paying much attention, so it startled him when he suddenly heard Trillium's name mentioned. Curious, he got up and went to the door, abruptly pulling it all the way open.

Madam Pomfrey stood there, having just relinquished her outdoor cloak to Molly Weasley. They both turned as Snape appeared in the doorway of the library.

"Oh! Severus, I'm so sorry we've disturbed you," Molly said. "Poppy's just arrived to see to Trillium. Would you be a dear and take her up?" She patted his arm and bustled back to the kitchen, from whence the sounds and aromas of dinner preparations issued forth.

Snape indicated wordlessly that Madam Pomfrey should precede him up the stairs. She did, for once not chattering, her blue eyes lacking their usual sparkle. He paused outside his bedroom, hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to brace himself before entering. It was almost more than he could bear to see his Trillium lying there like an empty shell every time he went into the room.

Madam Pomfrey put an encouraging hand on his arm. "Would you like to stay out here?" she whspered, her eyes kind. Snape shook his head.

"No," he said hoarsely. "I--I need to see her." Slowly he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Then he stopped short in amazement.

"Trillium?" he breathed. She was sitting up in the bed, one hand to her head, looking confused. Snape and Madam Pomfrey rushed to her, the latter clucking like a hen scratching for corn.

"Now, now--what's this? I'm not sure you should be up, my dear," Madam Pomfrey fretted. She felt Professor Lovejoy's forehead briefly and put a supporting arm round her shoulders. "Severus--the pillows, if you please."

Snape jumped to obey, plumping up the pillows and amassing a large pile of them behind Professor Lovejoy. Madam Pomfrey eased her gently back onto them.

"Good gracious," she exclaimed, pulling up the blanket and smoothing out the sheets. "We'd no idea you would be waking so soon! They'll all be quite relieved downstairs, I must say. Such a fright as you gave us!"

Professor Lovejoy smiled faintly at her fussing. Over Madam Pomfrey's white cap her eyes met Snape's briefly with just a hint of their previous laughter showing before she closed them again in exhaustion. Madam Pomfrey tsk'd at this and hovered uncertainly by the bedside.

"Well--I suppose you'd like to get some rest now," she said hesitantly. "Is there anything we can do for you, dear?" Without waiting for an answer, she added in a stage whisper to Snape, "I don't think she should be left alone--just in case she has a relapse, you know."

With an obvious effort, Professor Lovejoy opened her eyes again. "I'm all right," she said softly. "Just...so tired. I just want to sleep."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Well, and sleep may be the best thing for you," she agreed. Again she muttered to Snape, "As long as it really is a normal sleep this time." She shook her head but looked marginally less worried than when she had arrived.

Snape stepped to the door and said quietly, "I'll just keep watch for a while, shall I?" Madam Pomfrey appeared inclined to feel that she should perform this task herself, until she saw the almost hungry look with which Snape regarded Professor Lovejoy.

"Ah...certainly, Severus. Yes, to be sure. I'll just go let the others know the good news," she said. She tiptoed out of the room. Snape, leaving the door ajar, walked over to the bedside and stood there looking down at its pale occupant. Gently he passed his hand over the curve of her cheek.

"Sleep well, Trillium," he whispered. "I'll be right here with you, my love." She sighed in her sleep and turned her face into his hand. Her skin felt warmer now and she was visibly regaining her natural color.

Snape moved the armchair closer to the bed and sat down, perched on the edge of the chair, waiting. And while he waited, he planned.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning Professor Lovejoy awoke to see an uncomfortably scrunched-looking Snape crammed into the chair, sound asleep. For a moment she just laid there, watching him--a rare opportunity and one not to be missed. It figured, she thought, that it took complete unconsciousness for Snape to look that untroubled and--the thought came unbidden--not sarcastic.

She yawned and started to sit up, but immediately groaned and flopped back onto the mountain of pillows.

The slight sound was enough to wake Snape. His eyes flew open and he was on his feet in an instant.

"What is it, Trillium?" he asked. "Shall I fetch Poppy?"

Professor Lovejoy shook her head slowly. "No...oh, I can't even seem to get up by myself!" Carefully Snape helped her maneuver until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She tried to stand, but her legs were so shaky she had to sit again almost immediately. She slumped a little. "I feel as if I'd rolled down a hillside full of boulders. Whatever is wrong with me?"

He looked at her consideringly. "You mean--you don't remember?" he asked hesitantly. This possibility had not occurred to him.

"What do you mean--remember what?" she asked in a puzzled voice. "Severus, exactly what am I doing in bed?" She moved her arms gingerly. "Nothing seems broken, but I'm as weak as a baby."

Snape watched as she obviously tried to dredge up a memory that would answer her questions. He was uncertain how much he should tell her.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

She thought. "Hogsmeade, I think. Yes, that's right--Minerva and I were in Hogsmeade." She frowned. "We were walking back to Hogwarts, about to be late for dinner. Minerva said something about the birds--they had stopped singing." She looked at him. "Wasn't that an odd thing to notice?"

"Then what?" he prompted. He tried to restrain his impulse to badger the whole story out of her, instead fixing a look of polite interest on his face.

Suddenly her face paled and she threw him a horrified look. "Minerva!" she cried. "Oh, Merlin, they hexed Minerva! Severus, is she all right?"

"What?" Snape was taken aback by the abrupt change in direction her thoughts had taken. "Oh. Yes, of course. We found her on the road--" He broke off as Professor Lovejoy gasped.

"The Death Eaters! Oh, how could I have forgotten?" she cried. "I remember now. They must have Apparated with me..." Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a surprised O as she turned to Snape with sudden clarity.

"Voldemort," she breathed. "Severus, Voldemort is at Malfoy Manor." She shuddered in revulsion. Snape took her icy hands in his and chafed them to bring warmth back into them. He waited for her to tell him more.

"So that's what it's like," she said slowly. "To be put under the Cruciatus curse. It was--" She shook her head. "I don't remember much. I don't think I want to remember. I think I would have said anything to stop the pain. Oh, Severus--" She looked at him in dismay. "What if I told him something that could hurt the Order?" Tears sprang to her eyes. "What if I told him something that could hurt you?"

Snape pulled her into his lap in the armchair. "You couldn't possibly," he said reassuringly. "It's obvious from the fact that he knew to take you at all that he knows what you mean to me." He tipped her face up to look her in the eye. "But you're here now, safe." He kissed her brow. "It's a bloody miracle, is what it is. And not one I'm going to take lightly. I've wasted enough time as it is."

Professor Lovejoy looked a question at him. He cleared his throat and said, "Trillium--do you think you could--that is, would you possibly be--" He trailed off, closing his eyes in frustration. He hadn't imagined this would be so difficult.

He felt her hand on his face and turned to press a kiss into her palm. He looked up to see her smiling at him with the old warmth in her eyes. She said only one word, but it was enough to lift him to the height of happiness, a lofty place he had never thought he would be fortunate enough to know:

"Yes!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy's miraculous recovery was the talk of Hogwarts. As Dumbledore had said on a previous, similar occasion, it was a secret--so, naturally, the whole school knew.

What was more, word had leaked out about her impending nuptials--and to Snape, of all people! Absolutely everyone had an opinion on the subject; discussion could be heard in every corner of the castle.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were no exception. They sat in the Library, ostensibly working on their Transfiguration homework and keeping an eye out for Madam Pince. The boys were incredulous. "She could have anyone," Ron kept saying. "Anyone! And she had to go and pick Snape!" He shook his head sorrowfully. "That's just not right."

Harry was concerned on a whole other level. "You do realize what this means, don't you?" he asked in a hollow voice. "If she goes through with this--this wedding, he'll be my uncle."

Ron gaped at him. "That's right--blimey, I'd forgotten about that. Ah, Harry, you're in for it now--Dursleys on one side and Snape on the other!" He rolled his eyes. "You'd better come live with us, mate. Otherwise you'll never have any peace!"

Suddenly Madam Pince popped out from behind a bookshelf with a militant glint in her eye. "Quiet!" she whispered fiercely. "Or you can take yourselves off somewhere else." She swept off with an ominous backward glance, finger to her lips. Harry, Ron, and Hermione pretended studious attention to their books until she was gone, then resumed the conversation where they had left off.

Hermione said, "Oh, nonsense, Ron. Don't go filling Harry's head with such rubbish. Maybe Snape has changed." Her eyes grew dreamy. "You know what they say about the love of a good woman." Harry and Ron threw her identical looks of scornful disbelief, but she forged on.

"No, really. Look--Professor Lovejoy obviously thinks the world of him. So there must be something good about him. I mean, she's no fool, Harry."

"Not normally," he agreed, "but she's in love, which amounts to practically the same thing." Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

"Well, she's your aunt. You like her--don't you want her to be happy?" she asked.

Harry slouched over the table, doodling a line of little dots down a scrap of parchment with his quill. He shrugged, not saying anything.

"Well, don't you?" Hermione persisted.

Harry flung the quill aside. "Of course I want her to be happy," he said. "Just not with him, that's all." Hermione shook her head at his stubbornness. He looked up and caught her. An unwilling smile crossed his face. "You can't really blame me, can you?" he asked. "After all, Voldemort never would have gone after her if it hadn't been for her--connection--with Snape. How's that supposed to make her happy?"

Ron smirked. "He's got you there, Hermione."

She leaned toward them earnestly. "But don't you remember what Dumbledore's always said about love?" she reminded them. "He says it's the greatest force in the universe. It can accomplish miracles. Surely you haven't forgotten that, Harry?"

He shrugged. "What's your point?"

Hermione threw up her hands. "My point, you idiots--" she included Ron in her glare-- "is that just maybe Snape and Professor Lovejoy's both loving each other so much will keep them safe." Harry snorted rudely.

"Right. And I suppose a miracle will happen and their love for each other--" he laid one hand on his heart dramatically, and laid the back of his other hand against his brow in melodramatic fashion-- "will overcome Voldemort and save the day." Ron guffawed. Hermione, disgusted with both of them, opened her mouth to say something else, but just then Madam Pince made a reappearance.

"That's it, that is it!" she exclaimed. "Out with you now, all of you! And if you can't be respectful of others who are trying to work, stay out! Miss Granger, I would have expected better of you." She shooed them out into the corridor, then went back inside, shutting the door with an emphatic bang.

Ron was unrepentant. "Well, that's nice--slamming the door when people are trying to study! C'mon, Harry," he said, "let's go visit Hagrid for a while. I'll bet he's missing us something awful this year since we don't have his class any more." They headed toward the entrance hall. Hermione tsk'd and went in the opposite direction to see if the Gryffindor common room might be more conducive to studying.

Dumbledore remained in the Library where he had listened with great interest to their conversation from just inside the Restricted Section. Hmm, he thought to himself. A bit simplistic--but not a bad plan at all, no indeed. She might just have something there. His eyes twinkled. Whether she realized it or not.

But then, you always could trust Hermione to come up with a solution.


	17. News From Home

CHAPTER 17

News From Home

Two months of school remained. The weather was warming up pleasantly. Quidditch practice was once again enjoyable now that the season of frostbite and streaming eyes from the cold wind was over. The affair at Malfoy Manor was not long past; repercussions were just beginning to be felt in certain quarters.

Harry sat in Potions class one Tuesday afternoon, listening to Neville drone on with his recitation of ingredients for that week's potion. The only person in the room whose eyes weren't glazing over was Snape.

He was staring at Draco Malfoy. Harry followed the direction of his gaze and did some staring of his own. Malfoy had been looking more than a little peaked for some time now--in fact, ever since Snape had rescued Professor Lovejoy and brought her back to Number Twelve to recuperate from Voldemort's attentions. Harry wondered what was going on with Draco. His mind went back to the previous week and Draco's unprecedented breach of discipline at breakfast one morning. That's when it had all started.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The morning after the rescue, an owl had arrived for Draco at breakfast. In the midst of a jovial conversation with his friends, he reached absently for the parchment tied to the owl's leg, then flapped his hand at the bird dismissively. Affronted, the owl pecked him sharply on the back of his hand, which finally got Draco's attention.

"Ow! Look, the ruddy bird broke the skin," he exclaimed angrily. He showed the wound to Pansy, who swatted at the owl and then made crooning noises to Draco as she attempted to examine his hand. He yanked it away and glared at the owl.

"Get out of it, if you know what's good for you!" he snarled. The owl, having had quite enough of rude manners, hooted indignantly, returned Draco's dirty look with one of its own, and slowly and deliberately turned its back on him before flying off and disappearing on powerful wings into the distance.

Draco snapped the parchment open and scanned the contents quickly. His face paled even more than his usual shade, and the parchment dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. The blood on his hand stood out starkly against his white skin.

"Draco? What is it?" Pansy inquired concernedly. He didn't reply. His mouth had dropped open in shock and he stared sightlessly ahead, ignoring Pansy's efforts to get him to talk. Exasperated, she reached for the letter to see for herself what had caused his extraordinary reaction. He snatched it back hastily.

"No!" he said, his voice hoarse. Clutching the letter, he got up from the bench and walked rapidly toward the door. "Have to go," he threw over his shoulder. "Must see to something." Pansy started after him, calling his name querulously, but he threw out a hand and shook his head, almost running now, and left the Great Hall.

Snape watched the little drama with tightened lips and an annoyed frown. What on earth was Malfoy about, leaving the Great Hall before Dumbledore had made his after-breakfast announcements? There had better be a very good reason, he thought grimly. He wasn't about to see Slytherin lose house points because of rudeness to the Headmaster.

Snape excused himself to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Lovejoy, who sat on either side of him, and exited the Great Hall quickly through a side door. He hurried to the main staircase, wondering which way Draco had gone.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a gasping sound from the small alcove under the staircase. He peered around the corner and found Draco leaning back against the wall with his head bowed, sobbing quietly.

Snape was at a loss for words. This was certainly not what he had expected. What on earth could provoke such a reaction from the hardened Draco Malfoy? He debated uncomfortably with himself as to whether he should return the way he had come and leave Draco in peace, but his conscience won. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

Draco's eyes flew open. The rims were so red from crying as to look almost bloody against his abnormally white skin. He made an effort to speak with his usual cutting sarcasm.

"What do you want"? he sneered--then spoiled the effect by wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe, which Snape viewed with a shudder. Rolling his eyes, he reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief.

"Here," he said gruffly. "Kindly use this. You're a bit old to be using your sleeve." He surveyed Draco briefly. "Would you care to tell me just what all this high drama is in aid of?"

Draco folded his arms and hunched his shoulders, obviously not wanting to talk. Snape regarded him. On the one hand, he had no wish to mollycoddle his students; too, Malfoy ought be reprimanded for his abrupt and rude exit from the Great Hall before Dumbledore had dismissed them, a violation of manners and tradition. But clearly something was very wrong. Snape knew very well that Draco was frequently the cause of trouble--but he was usually much more subtle about it.

Sighing inwardly, Snape made his decision. "Come along," he said brusquely. When Draco didn't move, he said sharply, "Now." He turned and headed toward the dungeons, not waiting to see if Draco followed.

Draco lingered a moment longer, but ultimately he knew there would be consequences if he were to disobey a direct order. He might consider it with a teacher who was less harsh, but this was Snape, after all. He shoved off from the wall and followed with dragging footsteps, surreptitiously wiping his eyes and nose on Snape's handkerchief as he went.

When they reached the Potions classroom, Draco was surprised to see Snape continue on into his office. No one Draco knew had ever been inside the inner sanctum. Trying not to look interested, he hovered just outside the door.

"Well? Don't just stand there," Snape barked. "I haven't got all day." Malfoy entered and blinked in the dim light. The room was rather spartan in its accommodations. A large workbench dominated the space; mysterious beakers and cauldrons arranged over the surface gave off colored steam and various odors. The stone walls and floor were bare; there were few of the creature comforts here that were found in most of the other teachers' offices Draco had seen.

"Don't touch anything," Snape warned sternly. "Sit here." He pointed to a rickety-looking wooden chair in front of his desk, and seated himself behind the desk in a chair every bit as dilapidated. Draco sat gingerly where he had been bidden, hoping the chair wouldn't collapse.

"Now. I'll ask you again: Why did you run off in that insufferably rude manner before the Headmaster had dismissed the school?" Draco glanced at him sullenly, then slid his eyes away, saying nothing.

Snape shot to his feet and slapped his hand down on the desk, making Draco jump. "Answer me!" he thundered.

Suddenly he noticed the parchment in Draco's hand. Without warning he swooped down and plucked it out of Draco's grasp, brandishing it angrily.

"What is this? Has this got something to do with it?" Draco grabbed for the parchment, but Snape held it out of reach. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he purred, unfolding the letter. "What is so all-fired important that--"

He broke off in mid-tirade as he read the letter. His fingers tightened on the page. He peered over the top of it at Draco who, having resigned himself to Snape's perusal of the letter, was slouched down with his head buried in his hands.

Snape folded the letter back up and stood for a moment, tapping it against the edge of the desk. Finally he moved off to one end of the workbench and busied himself with the kettle that hung there. In a few minutes the reassuringly normal sounds of tea being prepared reached Draco.

When Snape nudged his arm, he looked up. Snape was holding a small tray with two teacups on it. Gratefully Draco took one, and Snape put the other on his desk. He rummaged in a drawer and came up with a battered tin which he set on the edge of the desk closest to Draco.

"Shortbread," he muttered. "Probably stale, but help yourself." He picked up his own cup and warmed his hands for a moment, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. Draco sneaked a glance at the tin and then at Snape.

"Go ahead," Snape said. He waved his wand over the tin and in a solemn voice intoned, "Open sesame." The lid lifted off and clattered to the desktop, eliciting the barest of smiles from Draco, who leaned forward to look inside. He selected a piece of shortbread and bit into it. Buttery sweetness crumbled into his mouth. He relaxed just the tiniest bit.

"So," Snape said quietly. Draco's eyes flew to his. Snape indicated the letter. "News from home, I see. Rather a nasty shock, I imagine."

Draco stared at him miserably. "You--could say that," he said at last. "My mother being dead is bad enough, but--" His voice broke and he swiped angrily at his eyes as they began to fill again.

"But the fact that it was by your father's hand is the worst part," Snape replied. Draco nodded mutely. "Good of him to tell you himself," Snape continued. At Draco's confused look, he added, "Well--it could have been the Minister of Magic, you know, informing you that your father has been sent to Azkaban for murder."

"But--but he's not in Azkaban," Draco said. They he realized how odd that was in itself. He looked at Snape, a glimmer of understanding shining through the confusion.

"That's right," said Snape, "he's not. He is at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord." He wondered how much he should tell Draco of the events of that night and his own part in them. Would Draco follow his father blindly into the service of Voldemort, or could his mother's death by his father's hand become the advantage that was needed to sway him to the other side? Snape felt it was worth the chance.

"I know, because I was there when it happened," he said bluntly.

"What?" Draco gasped. He jumped up and leaned over the desk toward Snape. "Why didn't you say anything? You knew all this time, and you--you've just gone on like nothing happened?" In his pale face, fury burned two fiery patches on his cheeks. His hands curled into fists, and a dangerous light glittered in his eyes.

Snape stood also, his eyes as cold as ice. At that moment Draco was not his student but the son of an enemy. Any sympathy he might have been tempted to feel for Draco at the tragic loss of his mother was rapidly being overcome by Snape's own sense of injury and betrayal by his former friend, Lucius Malfoy.

"Your parents," he bit out," were partially responsible for the kidnapping and torture of Professor Lovejoy last night. Did you know that, Draco? Did you know they aided the Dark Lord in injuring Professor McGonagall, snatching Professor Lovejoy off the road almost within sight of Hogwarts, and carrying her away to your home where the Dark Lord was waiting for her?" His own fury built in the retelling, his anger turning from ice to fire.

"Did you know that they stood by and watched--and laughed, Draco--as the Dark Lord subjected her to the Cruciatus curse?"

Draco's eyes widened, his grief momentarily put aside in his astonishment at Snape's revelations. His emotions churned confusedly. It wasn't as if he was unaware of his parents' allegiance to Voldemort--of course he knew. But he had nothing against Professor Lovejoy, and to know his parents had not only stood by while she was tortured but had even...enjoyed it? It was too much.

"No!" he burst out. "You're wrong. My mother would never--"

"Your mother, boy, was a Death Eater," Snape said relentlessly. "Of course she would. She's done far worse than just stand by and watch while someone was tortured, Draco, or didn't you realize?" Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Snape bowled ruthlessly over him.

"A loyal Death Eater does anything--anything--the Dark Lord bids them. Even to family members. Oh yes, Draco--even that. Sometimes the Dark Lord pits loved ones against each other just to see them prove their loyalty to him."

Draco's expression of horror made it obvious that he thought Snape meant Lucius had killed Narcissa deliberately, on Voldemort's orders. Snape drew back, almost sorry for Draco. It was best that he know now what he himself was headed for if he intended to follow in Lucius' footsteps, but Snape truly had not intended to imply that Lucius had knowingly murdered his wife.

"Draco, I think you misunderstood me," he said in a calmer voice. "What happened to your mother last night was an accident." Draco, sunk in misery, looked at him with eyes in which the spark of hope was all but extinguished.

"Listen to me," Snape repeated. "It was an accident. Lucius didn't realize your mother was there. He was aiming at a member of the Order--" He broke off, suddenly aware of what he had been about to divulge. As yet, Draco was probably unaware of the existence of--

"The Order of the Phoenix, is what you were going to say, isn't it?" Draco said flatly. Snape started. "Yes, my father's told me all about them. But why were you--are you--one of them?" Draco's eyes went to Snape's wrist, where he knew the Dark Mark was burned. Snape waited.

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand any of this. You're a Death Eater. What were you doing with that lot?" He spoke with contempt. "My father was right--you are a traitor, aren't you?" He turned to leave. Snape's voice flicked out like a whip, catching the raw edge of his emotions.

"Yes, Draco. I suppose I am. But what would you do if it came down to a choice between love and obedience?"

Draco halted, one hand on the doorknob. Snape pressed his advantage while he had the chance.

"I--love--Professor Lovejoy," he said in a low voice. "So, yes, I'm a traitor to Voldemort. I went there with members of the Order and half the Auror division from the Ministry--" Draco turned and his eyes widened-- "to rescue the woman I love. It so happens that several Death Eaters were captured last night, and unfortunately your mother got in the way of a curse that your father was aiming at one of the Aurors. So you see, Draco, he didn't intend to kill her. It was an unfortunate accident, that's all."

Draco stumbled back to his chair and sat heavily. "You--you're sure?" he whispered.

"I am. I know your parents, Draco. While I would never accuse your father of feeling a tender emotion such as love, I think what he felt for your mother was as close as he could come to it."

"But I still don't understand. You went to rescue Professor Lovejoy from the Dark Lord? Why? Why not just let him have her? It would have been safer, surely. Why betray him for something like love?" He spat the word as if it tasted particularly foul.

Snape rolled his eyes. He had never in his worst dreams imagined having to justify himself to a student--nor, he thought with some asperity, deliver a homily on the value of love, of all things! Finally he spoke.

"I shall only say this once, so listen well," he said. "You must know by now, Draco, that I've been considered a traitor by the Dark Lord ever since I came here to teach. Oh, for his own reasons he's allowed me to 'report' to him over the years on what the opposition is doing--and I'm certain he's always been well aware of the lies I mixed in with the truth to mislead him." He began to pace in the small space behind his desk.

"You know, Draco, Dumbledore isn't the fool your father thinks he is." Snape gave a wry smile at Draco's doubtful look. "Ah, I know...for a long time I, too, thought he was a doddering old idiot without a serious thought in his head. But just recently, Draco, I've come to have some idea of what Dumbledore means when he natters on about love being so important. Only a very faint idea as yet, mind you--" he laughed ruefully-- "too many years of prejudice to quite understand it all yet."

He came around the desk and dropped one hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco cringed, not sure just what to expect. This was a side of Snape he had never imagined existed.

"But I believe he may be right, Draco--love is the greatest power in the world. How else do you think Professor Lovejoy could have escaped right under the Dark Lord's nose? How else could I have escaped?" He shook his head, still amazed at what had happened. "It's the Dark Lord who has it all wrong, Draco. Your father will never see that--but there's still a chance for you."

Draco said nothing but looked at Snape thoughtfully.

"I know it's not easy to change your entire way of thinking from what you've been taught all your life," Snape said. "But I think you'd find it was worth it, Draco."

Draco stirred. "You said yourself you're in love with Professor Lovejoy. How do I know you're even capable of thinking straight?" He snorted. "Weasley's in love with Granger and it's obvious he can't think straight when she's around."

Snape shrugged. "When have you ever known Weasley to show signs of intelligence, in or out of love?" Draco laughed unkindly. But Snape wasn't through with him.

"You, on the other hand, are an intelligent person, Draco. I pay you the compliment--not in vain, I hope--of thinking that you will take the time to think about what I've said and consider it seriously before dismissing it out of hand. Draco--I'm asking you to not follow your father's path. The choice must be your own; but we do need you badly."

"We?" Draco raised one pale eyebrow sardonically.

"Yes. I no longer regard myself as a Death Eater. Too much has happened. The Dark Lord would never accept me as a loyal servant now--and I don't think I could be on any longer. Don't mistake me, Draco--I'm still not a nice person. But all of the trust and friendship and loyalty shown to me not only by Professor Lovejoy but by the Order as well--I find it's not something i can turn my back on.

Snape grimaced. "I'm afraid we've strayed rather far off the path I intended when I brought you here. I merely meant to reassure you about your father's part in your mother's death." He sobered again. "But Draco, think about what I've said. I suppose you could run to your father and tell him everything I've just told you. Maybe you will. But I'm putting my trust in you to not do it. Now it's for you to decide where your own loyalty lies."

Snape walked to the door and indicated that Draco could leave. He did so, his face a study in confusion. Snape understood. After all, he himself had once had to make the same decision Draco now faced. He knew of the self-doubt the boy would experience. But he would have had to go through it sooner or later, Snape thought.

Merlin's sake, he had indeed gotten sidetracked from the little speech of sympathy he had intended to give about Narcissa's death!

But he wasn't sorry for the digression. Recent events seemed to indicate that the sooner Draco knew where he stood on the Voldemort issue, the better.


	18. Something or Other Hits the Fan

CHAPTER 18

Something or Other Hits the Fan

Cornelius Fudge was having a bad day. The Death Eaters who had been captured by the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix at Malfoy Manor had been brought to the Ministry (Petrified, to prevent escape) and intensively interrogated as to the reason for their gathering at Malfoy Manor.

Needless to say, the Ministry had got little information out of them, none of it helpful. The Death Eaters expressed scorn, contempt, and disdain for their captors, and a singular lack of cooperation.

At present they were still being held at Ministry headquarters. Most of Fudge's headaches during the past week were due to the difficulty of deciding just what to do with the Death Eaters. The majority of the wizarding world was, understandably, not willing to see them go free. However, Fudge was doubtful whether even imprisonment in Azkaban would be effective, considering the apparent ability of some of the more clever (or more determined) prisoners recently to escape its supposedly secure walls.

There was always the Dementor's Kiss...but Fudge's mind rebelled whenever he thought in that direction. The whole concept was so unsavory; so--well, unthinkable, really. Of course, where Sirius Black had been concerned he had--albeit reluctantly--agreed to administer this punishment because there had been so much public pressure on him. But as it turned out, Black wasn't the one responsible for all those murders after all--it was Voldemort. Fudge shivered. Only think if he had been responsible for subjecting an innocent man to the Dementor's Kiss! He had nightmares about it sometimes.

He shuffled the papers on his desk, drawing out that day's Daily Prophet. The banner headline read, "Death Eaters to Go Scott-Free? Public Calls for Executions; Minister Indecisive." Fudge grunted. Indecisive, was he? More like between a rock and a hard place.

Not for the first time he privately wondered what Albus Dumbledore would do if he were in Fudge's shoes. Not that Dumbledore would be any better at this thankless job than he was, Fudge thought sourly. All right, so he'd guessed right about Voldemort returning--did that make him any better than Fudge? Some people thought so, he was aware. Well, he thought gloomily, if Dumbledore wants my job, maybe I should just give it to him. See how he likes having to please everyone--

A sharp rap came at the door. "Enter!" Fudge called, rather glad of the interruption. The door opened and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered.

"Good afternoon, Minister," he said heartily.

"Eh? Oh, afternoon, Kingsley." Fudge braced himself. There could only be one reason for Kingsley seeking him out at this particular moment. He waited, cringing inside.

Kingsley surveyed Fudge kindly. He didn't envy the Minister his job in these difficult times, but some sort of decision really had to be made, and soon. He took the bull by the horns.

"Well, sir. Have you decided on a course of action, then?" he asked. He rocked back on his heels, waiting for Fudge to gather his thoughts. But when he merely continued to stare moodily into space, Kingsley spoke again.

"Minister?"

Fudge appeared to shake himself. "Yes, yes," he said crossly. "What is it?" As if he didn't know.

"I am sorry to push you on this, sir," Kingsley said with a hint of apology in his voice. "It's just that--well--I'm afraid the people are on the verge of rioting, you see, and I can hardly think of a better way to bring us to the attention of the Muggles than a full-blown riot outside the Ministry building, can you, sir?

Fudge started violently. "Great Merlin in the grotto, no!" He contemplated the contents of his desktop for a moment, then looked up at Kingsley, a martial light gleaming in his eye.

"I've been far too slack with these Death Eaters. They simply can't be trusted," he declared. Kingsley stared at him. Had Fudge truly ever thought they could be?

"Very well, then. We'll have to punish them, obviously." Fudge dithered a bit, not wanting to come right out and say it in so many words. Then he visibly gathered himself together and said shakily, "The Dementor's Kiss." Kingsley raised an eyebrow. This was decisive indeed--but he knew the Minister's tendencies well.

"Ah...if you'd just be kind enough to write that out for me, please, sir?" Kingsley said. This was usually the sticking point with Fudge. He was good at making grand pronouncements but slippery when it came to putting anything in writing. Because of this, many of his decisions were never acted upon. Kingsley thought it was too much to expect that Fudge had been cornered so easily this time.

However, the Minister surprised him. Fudge drew his quill out of its inkpot and took a fresh piece of parchment out of a desk drawer. Hesitantly, then with bolder strokes as his resolution firmed, he wrote:

To the Warden of Azkaban Prison:

Be it known that I hereby declare that all Death Eaters delivered herewith shall be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss. This sentence shall be administered without exception, without question, and without delay.

Cornelius Fudge

Minister of Magic

He signed his name with a flourish. For a few moments he tapped his quill and just stared at the parchment. Kingsley cleared his throat, and Fudge glanced up quickly. "Right," he muttered. He sanded the parchment and rolled it into a scroll. Kingsley extended his hand eagerly, and Fudge reluctantly handed it over.

Kingsley read it through (not very trusting, is he? Fudge thought indignantly) then rolled it up again with a snap. "Thank you, Minister," he said simply. Fudge looked up at him worriedly.

"Am I doing the right thing, Kingsley?" he asked plaintively. "Only I don't see what else I can do, really..." His voice trailed off.

"It is the right thing, sir--it's the only choice you have, as I see it," said Kingsley. "Anything else would only be a half-measure--and we've already seen that half-measures don't work." He turned to go.

"Kingsley--you--you'll let me know, won't you?" asked Fudge.

"Of course, Minister."

Fudge made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. He didn't watch as Kingsley left.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day when the Owl Post arrived at the Hogwarts breakfast table, there was a tremendous buzz of excitement as soon as everyone saw the full-page article--and picture--on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

"I can't believe it!" Hermione breathed. "He's actually made a decision and stuck to it for once."

"Yeah--too bad he didn't do it last time he had them in Azkaban," Ron said. "Just think of all the murders he could have prevented."

Hermione nudged him and jerked her head toward Harry, frowning fiercely. Harry caught this out of the corner of his eye and smiled reluctantly.

"Well, he's not wrong, Hermione. Sirius might still be alive if Fudge had had a bit more backbone a year ago," he said. "It's hard to believe he's really done this. The Dementor's Kiss--wow, who'd have thought it?"

They examined the large picture in fascination. Ten Death Eaters, most of them on the elderly side, were lined up against a wall, presumably somewhere inside of Azkaban and obviously Petrified, awaiting their turn at the hands--or lips, rather--of the Dementors. One of them was in the grip of a Dementor when the picture was snapped, his mouth opened in a silent scream as his soul was ripped from his body by the corpse-like being. Harry shivered, knowing firsthand what that felt like. Not for the first time, he found himself feeling rather glad that although wizard photographs could move, there was no sound.

Reactions varied throughout the Great Hall. Some people were hopeful that Fudge's uncharacteristic choice of the drastic and controversial punishment by Dementor's Kiss was a sign that he was finally willing to acknowledge the need for action against Voldemort and his followers. Others, however, were not so optimistic.

"Well, he had to do it, didn't he?" Professor Sprout said indignantly. "Of course he did! He'd soon be ousted from his comfortable position if he hadn't done something. People would have been calling for his head soon." She shook her head, clearly not impressed. "If you ask me, it was more a matter of his own self-preservation than anything else. Why, I'm willing to bet my entire supply of dragon-dung mulch that Fudge is hiding in his office at this very moment, too cowardly to face the public's criticism."

Snape couldn't help staring at the picture with unwilling fascination. He could all too easily envision his own face frozen in that wide-eyed, horrified cry. The chatter flowed around him unnoticed as gruesome thoughts roiled in his mind.

Professor McGonagall listened in silence, sipping absently at her cup of tea. She glanced down the table and caught Dumbledore's eye. He sent her a tiny wink, but his expression remained serious. After a moment he rose and faced the students, waiting for them to quiet down. Those at the front nudged their neighbors when they realized the Headmaster was waiting to speak, and eventually a wave of silence rippled over the Great Hall.

"Before you go about your day, I would like to say something," Dumbledore began. "Most of you have noticed the Daily Prophet's leading story. I imagine there will be a great deal of discussion about it over the next few days. Regardless of your personal opinion of the Minister of Magic, you must recognize that he has made a very difficult decision, with the best of intentions." His gaze roamed over the students' faces, pausing now and then as if to assess their widely varied expressions.

"Time will tell whether his choice was the right one," Dumbledore continued. He eyed the front row over the tops of his spectacles. "You are all aware to a greater or lesser degree that a time of great conflict is approaching. We will not all, of course, be faced with choices as difficult or momentous as those the Minister has had to make. But each of us would do well to look inside ourselves--to know who we are and what we stand for--and to what extremes we are willing to go to stand up for our beliefs. I do not think it an exaggeration to say that a thorough knowledge of yourselves may very well be the most valuable thing you take with you when you leave Hogwarts."

Dumbledore seemed to look at Draco when he said this. From where Harry sat, he couldn't be sure. But Draco suddenly lost the glazed look he had had, and his eyes shifted furtively to see if anyone had noticed. When his glance crossed Harry's, his eyes narrowed and he hunched closer to the table, staring down at his plate.

Ron and Hermione hadn't noticed the little byplay. With the majority of the other students, they hung on Dumbledore's words, their expressions somber. When he dismissed them, they filed out of the Great Hall with considerably less noise and confusion than usual. If all of them did not exactly take Dumbledore's advice to heart, at least his seriousness had made a notable impression on them.

Harry was not the only one who felt Dumbledore's words had been meant especially for Draco. Snape, too, had been an interested observer as Dumbledore spoke. He observed Draco's reaction upon discovering Harry pointedly staring at him.

Snape reflected that Draco was surely aware that not only his fellow Slytherins but most of the other students as well knew of his mother's demise, and some of them even had some vague idea of how it had happened. While Snape's was not normally an empathetic nature, his own less-than-happy experience as a student had uniquely suited him to understand how Draco must feel under the open scrutiny of his peers.

Maybe, Snape thought, it's not a bad thing for him to learn firsthand that unexpected tragedy was likely to strike wherever Voldemort went, even if it was not directly caused by him. Your life was never stable--you were never truly safe--once you became Voldemort's to command. You never knew what might be demanded of you or, as with Narcissa, what accidents might befall you, once you strayed down that particular garden path. None of the people he knew who had done so had come to any good end, certainly. He rose, somewhat startled to find the staff table deserted and himself about to be late for class.

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had followed the students out of the Great Hall and stood watching as they dispersed to their morning classes. Professor McGonagall sighed, and Dumbledore looked over at her.

"What?" he asked.

She frowned. "Oh, I don't know, Albus. Somehow I just feel so--so--unsettled, I suppose." She gestured toward the students walking down the corridor. "They seem so terribly young to have such serious matters on their minds." She looked sad.

"Courage, Minerva," Dumbledore said, and gently patted her arm. "I believe there is still a little time before the storm is upon us. We shall, all of us, simply have to do the best we can." He smiled at her and started to walk away. She lingered at the top of the staircase, and he looked back. "Coming, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "No. I'm off to the Library. Since I have a free period this morning, I thought I'd start researching some practical applications of transfiguration for the younger students. Changing rats into teacups is all very well, but it would hardly help if one were confronted by a Death Eater with evil intentions, now, would it? It's high time they learned something more useful, Albus."

"Capital, capital," Dumbledore exclaimed "Well, then--I'll leave you to it." He continued down the stairs toward the private revolving stairway to his office. Professor McGonagall turned toward the Library, her thoughts in turmoil. Although in her heart she felt Fudge had had no choice but to use the Dementors as he had, she--like Harry--couldn't quite banish the picture in her mind of the Death Eater undergoing the Dementor's Kiss. She told herself ruthlessly that it had been necessary--and doubtless better than he deserved for the harm he had no doubt inflicted on any number of innocent people in his time.

But another part of her wasn't as sure that it was right...and she wondered, as she found herself doing frequently of late, where it would all end.

And, in other circles, other concerned parties were wondering the same thing.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lucius Malfoy flung the Daily Prophet down in a rage. Bellatrix, from where she huddled by the fire, roused enough to look up at him. He strode up and down the hearth, lips twisted in fury, muttering to himself. She watched him for a few moments, until she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Really, Lucius," she said dully. "What will you accomplish by pacing like that?" She sighed wearily. "You make my head ache."

Lucius barely heard her over the pounding in his head. Why had the Dark Lord allowed this to happen? Surely he and Narcissa had proven their loyalty time and time again and were entitled to his protection? How could this have happened? And just what had happened?

Indeed, events had moved with confusing swiftness on that fateful night. Somehow intrudes had gained access to the house--his house! There was treachery afoot, he was sure, for such a thing to be possible. He would need to conside rwhat to do about that, certainly. Kidnapping all of his guests, who were there at the Dark Lord's behest--and stealing them away to the Ministry! Unheard of. Monstrous! And inconceivably, the Dark Lord had allowed it to happen--right under his nose, as it were.

And Narcissa. His love, his compass through their murky and often dangerous dealings with the Dark Lord. His everything. Gone.

And Voldemort was doing nothing.

Bellatrix, seeing that Lucius was all but unaware of her existence at present, subsided back into her own miserable thoughts.

But Lucius began thinking. Dangerous thoughts, of revenge. Not just against the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic.

Thoughts of revenge against Voldemort.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Muggle Prime Minister was working late that night. As the day wore on he became aware of an odd sensation of a burden lightening--what burden, he couldn't have said. At the same time, he sensed a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as if storm clouds were gathering over the world. A strange feeling of menace, almost, was in the air.

He shook himself. Here he had been priding himself on all he had accomplished today, and now look at him. Menace in the air, indeed! He stood and stretched, turning to look out over the sleeping city. Pity, really, that he couldn't do all his work when no one was around to bother him. He got so much more done without the constant interruption of telephones, meetings, people always wanting something from him.

As he stood looking out, his mind beginning to wander, he heard a dry little cough behind him. He froze. What--? There was silence. Just when he had nearly convinced himself it was his overworked mind playing tricks on him, he heard it again--a polite cough. No, he thought, no, not--

"Ahem. Excuse me--Minister?" came an elderly-sounding voice. He knew that voice. He'd hoped he would never hear it again. With extreme reluctance, he turned. A small, very old oil painting hung on the wall across from his desk. It featured an old gentleman sleeping in a chair beside a table, but now that gentleman was awake and looking straight out of the picture, unmistakably right at him. The Prime Minister felt a bit faint and put out a hand to brace himself against his desk.

"Yes?" he said weakly. "What--what may I do for you?"

"The Minister of Magic would like a word, sir. If it's convenient."

The Prime Minister thought sourly that as far as he was concerned, there would never be a convenient time. Resentfully, he nodded.

"Oh, I suppose now is as good as any time," he said sarcastically--meaning, of course, that no time was good.

Abruptly, his fireplace began to swirl with greenish flames, and Fudge appeared. He stepped out of the flames briskly, brushing minute specks of ash from his sleeve.

"Good evening, my dear sir," he said. "You must excuse my intruding on you like this, but something has happened that I think you ought to know about." He fished in his robe, patting the folds of cloth until there was a faint crackling sound.

"Aha. Here it is!" he cried. "Now, then--" he pulled a small square of newspaper out of his pocket and held it out to the Prime Minster-- "see what you make of that." He rocked back on his heels, a satisfied look on his face.

The Prime Minister gingerly took the piece of newspaper from him. It was covered with tiny writing and a picture he couldn't quite make out except to see it appeared to be some sort of group photo. It looked like it was...moving.

"Hang on--it's awfully small," he commented, fishing in his own pocket for his reading glasses.

"Oh! Of course, of course--how silly of me," exclaimed Fudge. He tapped the square with his wand and it expanded to its normal size. It proved to be the entire front page of that day's Daily Prophet. The Prime Minister began silently reading it. His eyes grew wide and his face paled a bit, but by and large he thought he controlled himself admirably. All things considered.

"Good lord," he breathed. "The Dementor's Kiss. What--erm--what is that, exactly?"

"Ah," Fudge replied. "You remember when I explained Dementors to you a couple of years ago?" The Prime Minister nodded. "Well, the Dementor's Kiss is when a Dementor steals a person's soul." He nodded firmly as if that should make everything clear.

"Their soul?" repeated the Prime Minister. "Do they--do they die, then?"

"Heavens, no!" Fudge looked shocked. "We're not murderers. No, the Dementor's Kiss merely renders one incapable of feeling, of thinking--of having any ideas of their own. Makes 'em remarkably easy to control, really." He gestured at the paper with a chuckle. "That lot won't be causing any more trouble, I do assure you." He was the picture of satisfaction.

The Prime Minister was having some difficulty tearing his eyes away from the horrible scene pictured in the paper. "So...they just become vegetables, then?" he asked, trying to understand.

"Vegetables? Ha ha. You will have your little joke, sir. No, we don't perform any transfigurations on them--just the Dementor's Kiss. They are really quite docile afterward. Just sit in their cells and grow old and die." He seemed positively jovial at the prospect.

"Death Eaters. So these are the people responsible for all the murders and kidnappings we've been seeing recently, eh?" pressed the Prime Minister. Fudge hesitated.

"Well--well, no, not exactly," he said. "But they are Death Eaters."

"Just not the ones running round committing mayhem and murder in both our worlds?"

Fudge began to fidget nervously. "Well, mostly these are the--the more elderly among You-Know-Who's followers," he admitted.

"So there are others?"

"Oh, good heavens yes!" Realizing he may have sounded a bit too enthusiastic, Fudge quickly backpedaled. "That is--well--yes. Quite a few others, actually. The ones in the picture here--" he peered at it nearsightedly-- "are more or less...retired, I suppose you'd say." He looked defiantly at the Prime Minister. "But they're all out of the way now, every one of them."

The Prime Minister handed him back the newspaper. "But that doesn't really solve the problem, does it?" he said, beginning to feel depressed once again.

Fudge folded the paper and stowed it back among the folds of his robe. He grimaced. "No, I suppose not," he agreed glumly. "I just wanted to share the good news with you." He colored and wouldn't look the Prime Minister in the eye. "Not all that good, really, I suppose. Well, I'll just be off. No need to disturb you any further." He stepped toward the fireplace.

The Prime Minister, a little sorry to have deflated Fudge so thoroughly but still rather exasperated with him, said, "Well--still, it's something, isn't it?"

Fudge turned. "Well, I rather thought so," he said stiffly. "Still," he added politely, "I do quite see your point. It's just that I sometimes find I need to take encouragement wherever I can find it." He pulled a small pouch out of his capacious robes and took out a small pinch of the powder it contained. The Prime Minister watched interestedly. This part never failed to impress him.

Fudge gave a little wave, then turned toward the fireplace. He cried, "Ministry of Magic!" and threw the powder into the fireplace. Immediately the green flames swirled up. As the Prime Minister held his breath, Fudge stepped unhesitatingly into the flames, spinning like a top. In seconds he was gone.

The Prime Minister watched as the flames died down. He rather thought that might be fun to try sometime. Perhaps the next time Fudge came to call-- But reality asserted itself, and he pushed the thought away. Every time Fudge came to see him it meant trouble. He really wasn't all that eager to see the strange little man again...but he certainly had some neat tricks up his sleeve, Fudge did.

The little old man in the painting was snoring comfortably in his chair once again. The Prime Minister decided he'd had enough work for one evening. He tidied his desk and pushed his chair in neatly. Walking to the door, he removed his jacket from the coat tree just beside it and slung it over one shoulder. As he turned out the lights, he wondered how soon Fudge would find it necessary to return. He was afraid it would be all too soon.


	19. Awakening

CHAPTER 19

Awakening

Professor Lovejoy was of two minds regarding the sentence handed down by Fudge. Part of her was fiercely glad that Voldemort's force of Death Eaters had been so effectively diminished. But another part of her wondered what this would mean for Snape. Of course he had Dumbledore's support, as evidenced by his position at the school. But he was, after all, marked as one of Voldemort's own; how long would it be before either Voldemort or the Ministry of Magic decided to call him to account for what each would see as treachery to their cause?

When she finally awakened from the coma-like state induced by Voldemort's torture, Professor Lovejoy learned that the Dark Lord had once again anticipated the Order's plans. Instead of allowing Snape to trap him, he had neatly turned the tables when his Death Eaters kidnapped her, forcing Snape to come after her.

The one thing no one could fathom was why, when Voldemort had Snape right there before him, he hadn't killed him. Even without the support of his loyal Death Eaters, surely the great Voldemort was eminently capable of dispatching a single wizard, regardless of Snape's magical abilities. Why had Voldemort gone to all the trouble of setting up the elaborate kidnapping charade if not to rid himself of a traitor? It was a puzzle with no immediate answer.

Professor Lovejoy dismissed her last class of the afternoon. Her stomach rumbled suddenly, and she began to think of dinner. She walked slowly up the stairs to her office, stretching and yawning. It felt nice move around. She had set an exam for the Ravenclaws that afternoon, and rather than walk about the room as she usually did when she lectured, she felt it would be less distracting for the students if she were as quiet as possible. So, instead, she had sat at her desk for the last two hours grading essays by her first-year Hufflepuff class on the different varieties of dragons found in Great Britain--an amusing pasttime if one was fond of red ink, but otherwise singularly sleep-inducing.

Once in her office she removed her hairpins and shook out her hair into a shining, wavy golden-brown curtain. She reached into her desk and took out a hairbrush--unnecessary, strictly speaking, for she could have used magic to deal with her hair--but she enjoyed the soothing feeling of the brush stroking through the long strands and preferred to perform this task by hand. And who is to say whether she didn't occasionally imagine someone else wielding the brush, running his long fingers through her hair and gently caressing her neck...

She pottered about in her office--watering her plants, straightening her desk, and even taking the time to start the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. After being stuck for nearly ten minutes on 18-Across (an eight-letter word meaning a potion-heating receptacle; it could be either Crucible or Cauldron--she hadn't filled in enough of the surrounding words to be sure of anything except the first letter), she decided it was time to go down to the Great Hall. A bit early, perhaps, but there might be someone else in the staff lounge who was in the mood for a little pre-dinner conversation.

She stepped out onto the landing that overlooked the classroom and turned down the lamp that hung on the wall. Then she started down the stairs. As she glanced out over the empty rows of desks, her steps faltered. Severus stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded and ankles crossed...waiting for her?

His eyes lit up when he saw Trillium, and he stepped away from the wall to watch her approach. Just the sight of her, recovered and safely back where she belonged, made him feel ridiculously happy. He couldn't help the smile he felt spreading across his face; he felt about sixteen--gauche in the face of her self-possession, awkward next to her grace--but he didn't care.

Maybe it was the fact that he had survived his recent brush with Voldemort that had freed him to start enjoying life a little, he wasn't sure. Maybe that glimpse of his own impending mortality had made him determined to live whatever may be left of his life in whatever way he wanted. When he saw Trillium, everything else fell away except the love she inspired in him. Having once felt this love, even for so short a time, he wasn't about to risk losing it by doing anything as foolish as dying.

"Why, good evening, Severus," Trillium said, pleased to see him. She kissed him warmly on the cheek. It amazed him that she still seemed to care for him every bit as much as she had before her kidnapping. He had imagined her shunning him, seeing him as the reason for the horrors she had experienced, since Voldemort had, after all, used her as the bait to lure Snape to him. But no--she was as warm and welcoming as ever.

"Trillium," he responded. He moved as if to put his arms around her, but hesitantly, as if still unsure of his welcome.

Not so Trillium. She stepped closer and tucked her arms neatly round his waist, lifting her face for a kiss and smiling invitingly.

"I've missed you, Severus. We've both been so busy lately. If you don't kiss me soon, I'll--I'll be forced to do something drastic!"

Drastic? That sounded intriguing. Amused, Severus raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Oh, really?" he said, his tone teasing. "And--ahem--what might that be? Exactly?"

Trillium shivered deliciously. She hadn't heard that tone from him for so long. She eyed him consideringly. Perhaps being late for dinner might not be such a bad thing.

"Well," she began, bringing her hands around to the front, "it might go something like this." She parted his robes and slipped her hands inside to rest flat against his chest. She could feel his heart beating wildly and smiled at him guilelessly. He stared back, his eyes hot.

"And perhaps this." Her quick fingers made short work of the top two buttons of his black shirt. She chanced a brief glance at his face; his eyes, which were riveted to her hands, met hers, and he swallowed hard.

"Simply terrifying," he whispered hoarsely, but she smoothed a finger over his lips to hush him. Severus grasped her hand and placed a kiss in her palm, then pressed it to his cheek. He couldn't stand much more of this torture, even as mild as it was.

He pulled Trillium close and rained kisses down on her face, then caught her lips in a desperate, heart-baring kiss that made her toes curl with its intensity. They finally broke apart, gasping with breathless passion, staring dazedly into each other's eyes.

It was at this juncture, with impeccable timing, that Harry appeared at the classroom door.

"Hi, Aunt Trillium," he began. "I thought I'd see if--" Belatedly he realized that he was interrupting. When Snape turned slightly, the remnants of their private moment still reflected on his face, Harry was stunned. He knew in an abstract way that his aunt seemed to have feelings for Snape, but in his worst nightmare he had never imagined walking in on them while they were--well, doing whatever it was they were doing. And he devoutly did not want to know what that might be.

"Oh! Harry, hello," Professor Lovejoy said, startled. She put up a hand and fiddled with her hair. "What--er--what can I do for you?"

Harry glanced at Snape, who had withdrawn into his usual stiff demeanor and was looking on with his customary sneer once more firmly in place.

"I--was going to ask if you wanted to walk down to dinner together," he said hesitantly. "But we can do it some other time." The three of them stood there awkwardly for a moment, and he added, "Sorry if I--er--interrupted anything." His face reddened, and he hastily tacked on, "Not that you were doing anything, I mean!" Snape's disdainfully raised eyebrow made it clear that Harry should stop before he should inadvertently shove his foot any further into his mouth.

Professor Lovejoy folded her hands and surveyed the two of them. "I'd be delighted to have the escort of my two favorite men," she said lightly. She returned Snape's startled look with a pleading one of her own and held out both of her hands.

Snape stepped up and wrapped her right hand round his arm, looking smugly at Harry as he did so. Harry, not to be outdone, did the same on her left. Professor Lovejoy chuckled.

"Oh, you two," she said, and freed her hand from Harry's grip to ruffle his hair affectionately. She slung her arm around his shoulders. "Let's go. I'm famished!" They went out the door and down the corridor--man, woman, and boy--looking for all the world like a happy little family.

As if.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The following Saturday was the third and last Hogsmeade weekend of the school year. Professor Lovejoy, along with Hagrid, volunteered to chaperone the students. A few days earlier Dumbledore had asked Snape if he would be willing to go along as well, since three chaperones were required.

"Er--Headmaster, I really would rather not," Snape said, feeling a bit faint at the thought. "Surely someone else could--"

"Ah, no, I am--ahem--afraid everyone else already has plans for today."

Snape narrowed his eyes dubiously. "Everyone?"

"Everyone," Dumbledore said firmly. At Snape's moue of distaste, he added, "Besides, Severus--" he peered at Snape over the tops of his spectacles-- "you look as if you could use a little fresh air." Snape scowled darkly at this impertinence but said nothing.

Dumbledore was struck with a sudden inspiration. Sneaking a sideways glance at Snape, who stood fuming, arms folded defiantly across his chest, he said casually, "I believe Professor Lovejoy will be chaperoning as well--and Hagrid." He affected an absorbing interest in a nonexistent piece of lint on his sleeve. When he finally looked up, it was to see Snape regarding him with heavy suspicion. Dumbledore smiled brightly.

"So," he said, "I take it you can fit that into your schedule?" Without giving Snape time to rebut this assumption, Dumbledore charged mercilessly on. "Good, good. Thank you, Severus. I think you'll find it a pleasant outing." He nodded to Snape and strode briskly off with the air of one who has just accomplished an enormous and difficult task--and, it must be admitted, of a man making good his escape.

Snape watched him go, lips twisted in his habitual sour expression. A whole bloody Saturday, wasted, he thought. Ever since joining the staff at Hogwarts he had managed to dodge this particular assignment, either by pleading a previous engagement--as apparently every other faculty member had done--or simply by managing to evade Dumbledore when he was on the hunt for "volunteers". Snape was thoroughly disgusted to have been corralled into babysitting a group of unruly students amid the holiday atmosphere of a Hogsmeade weekend.

But...but...if Professor Lovejoy was going as well, perhaps the day wouldn't be a total loss. He didn't fool himself into thinking they would actually have any private time together, surrounded as they would be by students all day, but at least it would give him an excuse to see her. He wondered, with an odd touch of jealousy, if there was any significance to the fact that Hagrid was the other chaperone. But he told himself not to be a fool--it was merely a coincidence. There was--there could be--nothing between Hagrid and Professor Lovejoy.

So it was that at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning he found himself at the head of a queue of laughing, chattering students, checking off permission slips on a list Filch had given him only moments before.

"Other plans today, Professor," Filch said hurriedly as he shoved the list and quill at Snape. He bowed perfunctorily, eyes darting between Snape and his own escape route. He nodded and bowed with an unctuous smile, edging away the entire time. "Just check them off, Professor, sir, that's all there is to it." He sketched a brief salute and then turned and fled, leaving Snape, as it were, holding the bag.

This being the third Hogsmeade visit of the year, the eligible students were by now familiar with the routine. The weather was fine and everyone was eager to be off, so the preliminaries were accomplished quickly and they were on their way.

Snape handed off the list to Professor McGonagall, who was there to wave them off, and followed the last of the students out of the gates. He looked for Professor Lovejoy and saw her up at the front. Curse it! She was with Potter. They looked as if they were having a marvelous time, laughing and talking animatedly. Hagrid, too, he noticed, had a group of third-years with him who seemed to be hanging on his every word. Snape caught the phrase "right out from under that old dragon" and the word "tournament" and surmised that Hagrid was regaling his audience with a blow-by-blow description of Harry's performance two years earlier in the Tri-Wizard Tournament that Hogwarts had hosted. He snorted. Potter. Always the conquering hero.

Snape realized he was the only chaperone who had no one to walk with. The stark contrast this made with Hagrid's and Professor Lovejoy's friendly groups seemed, even to him, somewhat awkward when he thought about it. He told himself he was glad of the time to himself; going to Hogsmeade was a good idea since he could replace some classroom supplies that were getting low. Who wanted to socialize with students? He had to spend enough time with them in class without having them hang on him like leeches all the way to Hogsmeade. So he told himself he didn't care that he appeared to be the only person in the entire group who was walking alone.

But he was becoming aware of something that bothered him a great deal: deep down--deeper than anyone except perhaps Professor Lovejoy and Dumbledore took the trouble to see--he did care, very much. He was beginning to think, in that dusty corner of his mind where he tried never to look, that he wouldn't mind a little company on this fine day. That it would perhaps be nice to not stand out quite so plainly as the one person no one wanted to be around.

It was far too reminiscent of his own school years, when he had so desperately wanted to belong with someone--to have what seemed to come so easily to others. To Potter, and Black, and even Lupin, damn him. But something in their tight-knit group recognized his desperation, a weakness he was unable to hide; and instead of fellow feeling, it only aroused their scorn. So, really, he had seen no choice but to show the world how much he didn't care, how well he managed without all the silly friendships that they thought were so important.

Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecies.

By the time he finished Hogwarts--first in his class with Outstanding in all his NEWTs--he had succeeded in convincing himself that he'd been right. He didn't need anyone, for any reason. He was strong, the master of his own fate. He answered to no one and wasn't burdened by a single friendship.

Soon after he left Hogwarts he came to the notice of the Dark Lord, after which he quickly came to realize that his fate was anything but his to command. But that, of course, is a story for another time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape occupied himself with looking up ahead and admiring the coppery highlights the morning sun brought out in Professor Lovejoy's hair. Had he ever been known to use such a word, he might have said her laugh was charming. He wished he was the one walking beside her. How he envied Potter his easy conversation with her. It just figured, Snape thought glumly, that yet another Potter was depriving him of something he so badly wanted for his own.

Professor Lovejoy's words from the previous fall returned to him now--her admonishment to not see Harry and James Potter as one and the same, that Harry was really a likeable person and didn't have the tendency toward cruelty that James had shown.

Snape was not a warm person, but he was an honest one. And if he were to be completely honest--with himself, at least--he had to admit that his dislike of Harry was partly based on his hatred of James and the group of friends he had influenced, and partly on his envy of Harry and the ease with which he made friends who cared deeply for him. To give credit where it was due, it was almost as difficult for Snape to admit this as it would have been for Professor McGonagall to stand up in front of the entire school and tell a dirty joke. But he reminded himself, sternly, that he was strong. He would make the effort--for Trillium.

It was a small gesture, perhaps, to only admit this to himself. But it was a beginning--the first crack in the ice. The long process of thawing out the perpetual winter of Snape's heart was underway.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy left the bookshop happily. She had found several books she'd been wanting to read and had made arrangements for them to be delivered to Hogwarts. She thought she might look in at Honeydukes for a moment and get some Butterscotch Broomsticks to take back to her office. They were her particular weakness; she liked to see how long she could make them last while she graded essays.

She made her way across the street, waving to some of the third-years who trotted giddily from shop to shop in search of fun, enjoying their freedom. For them, the novelty of Hogsmeade visits obviously had not worn off yet. Cries of "Hello, Professor!" were accompanied by much waving of bags to show her their time had been well spent. She waved back, enjoying their enthusiasm.

Just as she reached the door of Honeydukes, it swung open and Harry and Ron walked out of the shop. Both of them carried bulging sacks of candy and novelties. It amused her to see that even the sixth-years, who considered themselves light-years ahead of the younger students in sophistication, nevertheless got the same enjoyment from the simple pleasures on offer at Honeydukes and the other Hogsmeade shops.

"Hi, Auntie!" Harry said cheerfully. Ron attempted a hello, but shrugged and pointed sheepishly to his mouth, which was full of Exploding Sugar Bombs.

"Hello, boys," she said. "Having a good time, are you? What have you got there?" She indicated their purchases, and they looked at each other guiltily.

"Well," Harry said, "mostly just stuff from Honeydukes, so far. We were going over to Flourish and Blott's next, though."

Professor Lovejoy laughed. "Well, whatever you do, enjoy yourselves. Just don't forget to be back here at three sharp, mind. We don't want to have to wait for you!" She squeezed Harry's shoulder and he sent her a fond look in return.

"We will," he assured her. "I don't want you having to walk back alone!"

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "See you later." She continued on into the shop, and Harry and Ron walked off in the direction of Flourish and Blott's.

"Gosh, Harry," Ron said through his mouthful of candy. Glittering silver smoke, a remnant of his favorite exploding sweet, streamed out of his mouth and nose as he spoke. "Your aunt is really great; you're sure lucky. It's nice you have some family that likes you."

"I know," Harry said fervently. He glanced back at Honeydukes just in time to see--Snape's?-- billowing black robes disappear inside. His stomach clenched and a wave of jealousy surged over him. He slowed to a stop. Ron, several paces ahead, suddenly realized he was talking to himself and turned.

"What is it?" he asked.

Harry reluctantly continued to where Ron waited. With a last, long look at Honeydukes, he turned resolutely away. "Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. Let's go." They trudged on, but for Harry the day didn't seem quite as bright as it had just moments before. Everything suddenly looked as flat and dull as he felt. He was no longer in the mood for fun--he wanted to go find something to kick. Hard.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy walked into Honeydukes to find herself, for the moment, the only customer. Madam Honeydukes was bustling about behind the counter, refilling jars and tidying up after the rush of students. She looked up and smiled.

"Well, and a good day to you, Professor! On chaperone duty, are you?" Professor Lovejoy admitted this was the case.

"Do you mind browsing for just a moment, dear?" Madam Honeydukes turned, a tall stack of boxes teetering in her arms. "I just need to pop these back into the sto--oh, dear--" She caromed off the counter and most of the boxes fell to the floor. Professor Lovejoy bent to help her pick up the scattered packages of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Droobles Best Blowing Gum, and other assorted sweets. The bell over the shop door rang when another customer entered, but, distracted by their task, neither Madam Honeydukes nor Professor Lovejoy paid any particular attention.

Finally all the errant bits and pieces had been rounded up and returned to their boxes, and Madam Honeydukes continued with her errand to the storeroom. Professor Lovejoy stood and admired the colorful displays while she awaited the proprietress' return.

Suddenly her nerve endings came to attention. Someone was behind her. Before she could turn, two hands came down on her shoulders. She gave a little scream.

"Hello, Trillium," Snape said into her ear, his warm breath causing delicious shivers to run up and down her back. "And what might you be up to?"

She turned with a glad smile. "Hello, Severus. You startled me! I'm afraid I'm here to indulge my formidable sweet tooth. What about you?"

His eyes did a quick head-to-toe assessment of her that would have been insulting coming from anyone else; but when he did it, her stomach did a little flip of excitement. He cocked his head to one side and said, "Perhaps I'm indulging mine right now." She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched.

He indicated the glass cases. "What are you going to get?" he asked. "No, wait--let me guess." He tapped his chin with one finger as he looked around the shop. "Let me see...ah, of course. You're a girl, and everyone knows girls love chocolate, so--Chocolate Frogs?" She shook her head. "No?" He strolled a few steps further and stopped before the display of Exploding Sugar Bombs. He picked one up and, turning to her, held it up and shot her a doubtful look. She shook her head emphatically, eyes dancing. He put the candy back and advanced on her slowly. Her heart beat faster at the look in his eyes.

"Then I suppose I'll have to guess your favorite some other way."

He gently took her face in his hands, reveling in the softness of her skin. His lips came slowly down to meet hers. She responded willingly, and what had begun as a tentative gesture deepened into something more.

Snape lifted his face away from her for a moment and surveyed her closed eyes and flushed cheeks with satisfaction. He enjoyed knowing that he could put that look of dazed ecstasy on her face. He lowered his head again and nibbled gently at her lower lip, thinking how wonderful her mouth tasted--he couldn't imagine Honeydukes selling anything half as sweet.

Suddenly Madam Honeydukes popped back out of the storeroom. "Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing what she had interrupted. "Dear me, I'm so terribly--that is, perhaps you'd care to--oh, my. Er--decided what you'd like, dear?" she finally asked, taking refuge in the normalcy of a business transaction.

"Yes--er--a pound of Butterscotch Broomsticks, please," Professor Lovejoy requested. She sneaked a glance to her left, where Snape stood a few feet away pretending an interest in the Famous Witch and Wizard collectible cards on the Chocolate Frog boxes. Sensing her gaze, he glanced at her. She smiled at him impishly and he stared at her for a long moment, his eyes devouring her.

Madam Honeydukes watched the two of them as she tied a ribbon round the top of the bag of candy, an indulgent smile on her face. Ah, to be young again, she thought with a little sigh. She and Honeydukes had been married for many years now, and happily so. He still surprised her with the odd romantic gesture now and then, and she was well content. But new love--ah, there was nothing else quite like it.

Professor Lovejoy accepted her package and her change in a blissful haze. Snape opened the door to usher her out of the shop. The bright sunlight nearly blinded them. It occurred to her to wonder what they might do to pass the time until three o'clock.

"Do you have any errands to run, Severus?" she asked, noticing his empty hands for the first time. He shook his head.

"No, I've already completed mine," he said. "I ordered some potion ingredients for delivery to the school on Monday. I didn't want to have to cart them round all day." He eyed her speculatively. "Is there anything else you need to do, or may I take you to lunch?" He indicated the Three Broomsticks pub up the street.

"I don't have anything else," Professor Lovejoy said. She held up the bag of candy and rattled it. "I'm all set. I should think this will last me until school's out. Lunch sounds wonderful--I didn't realize how hungry I was until you mentioned it. Thank you, Severus."

Pleased, and glad of the excuse to spend a little more time with her--an entire lunch!--Snape tucked her free hand into the crook of his elbow and they set off up the road to see what Madam Rosmerta was serving up today.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At three o'clock the group gathered in front of Honeydukes for the return to school. A head count was taken to make sure no one was forgotten, and then everyone trooped down the street and out of town. This time Snape was determined to walk with Professor Lovejoy, and she seemed glad of his company. Harry and Ron were just ahead of them, and Hagrid brought up the rear to sure there were no stragglers.

The return trip was much quieter than the walk to the village that morning. Everyone had spent a good part of the day in the fresh air, running about in town, and more than a few students were heard to wish they had broomsticks to carry them back to Hogwarts.

As they left the village behind, Snape surreptitiously kept an eye on Professor Lovejoy. Outwardly she looked calm enough, though she was perhaps a bit quieter than usual. But her hand, which he had persuaded her to allow him to hold, gripped his harder and harder as they approached the curve in the road--the scene of her kidnapping. He winced. He hadn't realized she was--quite--that strong.

"All right?" he said in a low voice.

She nodded silently, looking straight ahead.

"It's all right," he reassured her. "You're safe with all of us here." She nodded briefly but didn't slacken her grip. It wasn't until they were nearly at the school gates that she gave a sigh of relief and let go of his hand.

"Gracious, Severus, I'm so sorry--your poor hand!" she apologized. "I hadn't realized I was holding it quite so tightly. My own fingers are cramped--yours must be squashed to bits!" She took his "poor hand" in both of hers and massaged it gently, smiling into his eyes.

Snape walked beside her, enjoying the feel of her soft hands on his. He was well aware of happy feelings elsewhere on the premises as well, which suddenly recalled him to his surroundings. He snatched his hand away from Professor Lovejoy and glanced around furtively to see if anyone had noticed.

Potter had--of course. He might have known! Snape glared at Harry defiantly. Ostentatiously turning his back, he put his hand in the small of Professor Lovejoy's back and escorted her through the gates.

Harry was properly disgusted at a display of affection involving not only adults, but an adult who was related to him. Still, somehow the situation didn't have quite the same sting it had when he'd seen Snape go into Honeydukes after Professor Lovejoy that morning. Harry could see for himself that Snape seemed to truly care for her--even so, he would have continued to hate the sight of them together had he not also seen how very happy she seemed whenever Snape was around.

Harry wasn't stupid, and he wasn't particularly selfish. He was glad his aunt was happy, although he still wasn't reconciled to the thought of its being due to Snape. His mind and emotions churned in a mixed-up stew of confusion and satisfaction, jealousy and contentment. He shook his head. Maybe his life really would be easier if he just accepted the way things were.

Still somewhat disgruntled but no longer feeling as unhappy as he had earlier, he went to wash up for dinner.


	20. Ultimatums

CHAPTER 20

Ultimatums

The end of the school year loomed on the horizon, just three short weeks away. The fifth- and seventh-year students were easy to spot these days--they were the ones walking round the school muttering under their breath: lists of potion ingredients, dates of famous wars, charms for levitation, and the like. During free periods in the Great Hall, random objects could be seen suddenly transfiguring into completely different items--evidence of frantic last-minute practice for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations.

When Professor McGonagall found herself, one morning at breakfast, faced not with the flowered teacup she had been holding only moments before but instead nose to nose with an indignant white mouse, Dumbledore (manfully hiding a snort of laughter) was moved to decree that practice must be reserved for non-meal times, in order to maintain a semblance of decorum.

Harry and Ron, being sixth-year students and therefore subject to neither of these formal examinations this year, watched sympathetically but, it must be said, somewhat smugly. Hermione, on the other hand, was as driven as any of the O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. students. When Ron unwisely told her she ought to take life a bit easier since they only had to take the regular end-of-year exams, she rounded on him incredulously.

"Only?" she exclaimed. "Only, nothing! I haven't worked this hard to only get Acceptable marks this year, Ron!" She looked at the two boys as they sprawled against the castle bailey's stone wall. "Do you two really have so little interest in your futures that you won't make an effort to do well in your exams? It's not just the marks--I know you think that's all I care about, but it's not. What we're learning here may be something you'll find you desperately need to know later on. Don't you get it?" She stood, hands on hips, frustrated by their seemingly careless attitude about their future prospects.

Ron sniggered. "I don't know how critical it'll be for us to know how to concoct half the potions Snape's had us making this year," he said. "And who's ever going to be in mortal danger because they didn't know the dates of the last Troll war?" He winked at her cockily. "Besides, if I do ever need to know any of that stuff, I can always ask you, right?" He grinned, having, as he supposed, neatly sidestepped the problem, and looked to Harry for his agreement. But Harry, seeing the look on Hermione's face at Ron's words, looked away uncomfortably. Ron, having finally realized he had somehow offended, looked back at Hermione.

"Oh, of course," she said in an odd voice. "You can always ask me, can't you?" Ron, uncertain of her mood, remained warily silent.

"Tell me, Ron--where do you see yourself in, say, ten years?" Hermione asked suddenly.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Never really thought that far ahead. Why?" Harry cringed inwardly, having a fairly good idea where Hermione was headed with her question.

"Well, how about after next year, when we graduate from Hogwarts?" she persisted. "What will you do then?"

"Go to university, I suppose. Why--what are you going to do?"

Hermione said, "I've decided to go to university to become a Healer. I think someday, when Madam Pomfrey retires, I'd rather like to return to Hogwarts as the school's Medi-witch." She looked Ron in the eye. "I don't know where you'll be," she said slowly. "Somehow I can't imagine you wanting to spend any great amount of time in an institution of learning. So...I don't know, of course, but it seems quite likely our lives will go in different directions after we leave here, doesn't it?" She ran her quill through her fingers repeatedly, looking for something in his eyes that she seemed to not find.

Ron listened to her with a vague feeling of panic. Various unpleasant suppositions raced through his mind, each one worse than the last. What was she getting at?

"Here, what are you getting at, Hermione?" he asked finally. He was afraid to ask--but he had to know. "Are you--are you--" He couldn't bring himself to voice the dreadful thought aloud.

But the horrified look on his face spoke for itself. On some level, it gave Hermione a feeling of satisfaction to see it. Ron wasn't easily able to express any tender emotions he might feel; for him, saying even this little told her how much he cared about her. She hoped those feelings would spur him on to do something with his life; she didn't want to tread a lonely path through the rest of her life without him. So...

"Am I breaking up with you, do you mean?" she asked quietly. Ron gulped and nodded, a suspicious hint of brightness in his eyes. Hermione steeled herself to not offer him an easy out. She thought it was high time he found out what he was made of.

"I don't know," she said earnestly. "I don't want to break up, certainly. But nor do I really want to think of a life with you when you don't know what you want to do with yourself. You have to make a decision sometime, Ron. Not today, of course--but you don't even seem to have a vague idea about what you want! I'm just saying you'd better buck up and start thinking about it. I don't intend to spend the next few years in limbo, waiting for you to make up your mind to grow up and find something to do."

She stood up. The sun was disappearing behind the hills and the breeze suddenly felt a bit chilly. She waited for a long, agonized moment for the boys to get up as well, but Harry and Ron were so taken aback by her outburst that they remained sitting there stupidly. Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, and with an impatient sigh she left, dragging her feet and sending many a backward glance over her shoulder.

Harry finally stood up, brushing grass and dirt from his trousers. Ron stared into space with the dazed expression of someone who has witnessed a catastrophe and isn't quite sure what has just happened. Harry bent down and offered his hand. "Come on," he said. Ron stared at Harry's hand blankly for a moment and then grasped it and pulled himself up.

"What on earth was that all about?" he said piteously. "Where did all that come from?" He was completely bewildered. Harry decided it was time for a little heart-to-heart with his oblivious friend.

"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this," he said uneasily. Ron looked at him suspiciously, but Harry forged on.

"She's right, you know." There was an outraged squeak from Ron. "No, really, Ron. Haven't you noticed how Hermione's always hinting for you to show her how you feel? How she tries to get you to talk about what you're interested in so she can get closer to you? She's really trying to--you know--" he rolled his eyes, hating the clichéd phrase--"take your relationship to the next level." He looked at Ron to see if any of this was sinking in. But it was hard to tell.

Ron snorted. "The next level? And what does that mean, might I ask?" He shook his head in disgust. "Sounds like you've been reading too many ladies' magazines, mate."

"Okay, Ron, then let me ask you: where do you see yourself in ten years? As far as you and Hermione are concerned, I mean."

"Well, ten years, that's such a long time, Harry. I don't know--married, of course, maybe a couple of kids by then. But why worry about it now? That's so far off."

Harry spread his hands. "See? That's what I mean--she's trying to get you to move in that direction, but I think she's worried you're going to just kind of drift along, never deciding what you want to do and never making a definite move toward growing up or marriage or responsibility--just living at the Burrow indefinitely and waiting for something to happen."

Ron gave him a look. "Oh, come on, Harry. She can't possibly think so little of me. After all--well, we are engaged. Why would she have agreed to that if I'm such a slacker as all that?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. She's changed this year--she's got a lot more serious. Maybe she thinks you haven't." He paused for a moment. "Do you have any idea at all what you want to do after Hogwarts? I mean, you said university--but to what end?"

Ron shuffled his feet a bit. His face grew red under Harry's scrutiny. "Well," he said defiantly, "Mum and Dad expect me to go to university. I don't really want to--years more of classes and such, it sounds like a drag--but I don't see a way out of it. I know what I'd really like to do, and I can tell you it doesn't involve university at all. But it'll never happen," he said, finishing on a glum note.

"Why not?" asked Harry curiously. "What is it?"

"You'll laugh," said Ron.

"I won't laugh. Honest."

"Oh, you will, when you hear what it is," Ron assured him stubbornly. He sighed and reluctantly met Harry's eyes. "I want to play Quidditch professionally," he said, watching Harry carefully for any signs of incipient laughter. "I know what you're thinking," he added wryly.

"What?" Harry protested. "I know you like Quidditch a lot. Makes sense to me. But...do you think you could really do it?"

Ron's mouth twisted sourly. "I pretty much know I can't do it," he said dully. "Well, you know it, too--you've seen me play!" His shoulders slumped as he thought of his less-than-professional-caliber Quidditch ability.

"Oh, you're not as bad as all that," Harry said, not wanting to crush Ron completely but leery of encouraging any false hopes. A sudden thought struck him. "Have you ever considered teaching?"

Ron looked at him as if he'd sprouted wings. "Teaching?" He laughed bitterly. "Me? Harry, if you're just going to make bad jokes, let's drop the subject right now."

"No, I'm serious," Harry insisted. "Actually, it's the perfect solution." Ron looked at him askance. "No, just listen, Ron. Hermione wants to end up back at Hogwarts for her career, right? Well, what could be better than both of you being teachers here?" He warmed to his subject. "She'd be in the Infirmary, and you'd be teaching. It'd be great!" He looked at Ron, expecting to see his enthusiasm reflected there.

But Ron was gaping at Harry as if he'd just suggested robbing Gringotts--or worse. "You're mental!" he said at last. "Pure mental!" When Harry opened his mouth to protest this view of his grand plan, Ron held up his hand to stop him.

"Just tell me one thing: exactly what do you imagine I'd be teaching, in this rosy picture you're painting?" he demanded. "You know I'm not all that great at classes, so what--exactly--do you see me teaching? Potions?" He laughed. "Have to be over Snape's dead body, don't you think? And Charms--good grief, Harry, I'd probably kill someone my first day! In fact, if I tried to teach any subject, people could be in grave danger. You know what a lousy student I am. How can you even suggest such a stupid thing?" He turned and began trudging back to the castle. Harry hurried to catch up.

"Come on, Ron," he said bracingly. "I didn't mean to get you all depressed. Besides, I wasn't thinking of anything like that. Quidditch--that's what I could see you teaching."

Ron snorted inelegantly. "Oh, right--me being such a star player and all, you mean?" He shook his head, truly puzzled by Harry's obtuseness in refusing to see reality.

"You may not be a star player but that's only because you're not very confident," Harry said. "Remember the day you won for Gryffindor? You won, Ron--you were brilliant!"

Ron looked a bit less gloomy at the memory of that one golden day. "Yeah, all right--I guess I did play pretty well," he admitted. "But, Harry, it's only one match. It's not like it's ever happened before. It was just a fluke. I wouldn't have any business teaching others how to play."

"I disagree. You, Ron, are Quidditch-mad. You know everything there is to know about the game. You may not be the world's best Keeper, or fastest flyer, but you know a good player when you see one. You taught Ginny how to play. She said you were a much better teacher than Bill or the twins, because you were patient with her and gave her a lot of encouragement. Well, that's what a teacher does, Ron--in case you hadn't noticed. Besides, how many teachers do you know who are superstars? If they were, they wouldn't be teaching. You could encourage a whole new generation of Quidditch players. Maybe one of them would even turn out to be a champion someday. Just think about it, Ron, that's all." He fell silent. Ron looked more thoughtful and less sulky now, so Harry had reason to hope his words hadn't fallen on deaf ears.

Finally, at the castle doors, Ron spoke. "Well--I dunno, Harry. It seems way too much like fun to be a real job."

"Why can't a job be fun?" Harry wanted to know.

"I--well--" Obviously it was something Ron hadn't considered before. Teaching was work--and since when was work fun?

Harry laughed. "Just think about it, okay? You never know." Ron nodded absently, his mind already busy imagining himself as Professor Weasley, beloved Hogwarts Quidditch master.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Professor Lovejoy ambled along the corridor slowly, reluctant to spend the evening marking essays. She looked lingeringly out of each window she passed, the soft early-evening light beckoning to her--come out and play, Trillium, you know you want to. She sighed. It was proving to be every bit as difficult for her to buckle down and be responsible and hard-working during these final few weeks of school as it was for the students; they had her full sympathy. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on schoolwork when the weather was fine and romance was in the air.

Because romance was--most definitely--in the air.

It never failed: the closer it got to end of term, the more frantic the students seemed to be to pair off before being separated for the summer. Some very unexpected and downright odd couples were formed during the last weeks of school. Some lasted the summer and were continued the next autumn; others were of a more transitory nature, existing only to satisfy the need of the moment to have someone to stroll the grounds with, or watch the stars with--in short, someone with whom to share the nebulous feeling that was Romance, generated by soft breezes, balmy night air, and the realization that separation was nearly upon them. It was teenage hormones at their finest.

However, the students were by no means the only ones affected by that "certain something" in the air. Far from it.

Professor McGonagall was heard to hum--actually hum!--as she passed out homework assignments in fifth-year Transfiguration. Professor Binns, ghost though he was, was more animated than usual in his discussions of ancient battles of the goblin wars, actually getting up from his desk to pace up and down the room, now and then stopping to stare longingly out of a window. He invariably forgot what he had been saying and would begin again on an entirely different subject, which variously frustrated and amused his students.

So perhaps Professor Lovejoy could be excused for her inattentiveness to duty, and her sudden decision to take an evening stroll by the lake. She wondered where Snape might be--and even as she thought of him, he appeared around a corner at the far end of the corridor, walking toward her. He, too, cast envious glances out of the windows at the students who littered the grounds as they took advantage of the last of the light.

Suddenly looking up, he caught sight of Professor Lovejoy and his eyes lit up. He could feel a ridiculous smile spreading across his face. He couldn't stop it, he knew, even if he tried. But these days he wasn't so sure he cared if people caught him looking happy. Why shouldn't he be happy? He'd waited long enough, certainly. Well, then, let the whole blasted world know it! Let them look, if they had nothing better to do. He was--

"Severus."

Professor Lovejoy interrupted his meandering thoughts. Her voice was like ice-cold water being poured over his parched, sun-baked soul. It was delicious--she was delicious. He drank in the sight of her, unable to get enough.

"Lovejoy."

His voice made her want to hug herself. It rolled softly over her, blanketing her in warmth.

"What are you up to this fine evening?" she asked, her face dimpling in a friendly smile.

Snape was mesmerized by those dimples. Every time he saw them he wanted to touch them. His hand actually started to lift when a roar of laughter from a group of students outside recalled him to his surroundings. He looked startled, as though he had just come awake, and stared at his hand for a moment in puzzlement.

"Ah..." he began, staring at Professor Lovejoy in bemusement.

"I should be marking essays right now," she said. "But I really would rather be outside, enjoying the evening. Wouldn't you?" Her eyes were inviting.

Snape's lips twitched. "As you say," he agreed.

"Perhaps...a brief stroll by the lakeside?"

He eyed the sky. "It will have to be brief, indeed. The sun will be going down soon."

"Well, then...?"

Snape gave a courtly bow--for him, a playful gesture indeed. "I am at your service," he purred. He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

"We shall!" she said delightedly, taking his arm. Feeling inordinately pleased with themselves, they descended a short stairway into the courtyard and made their way among small groups of students to the outer wall. They passed through the arch and made for the near shore of the lake.

"There's hardly anyone about down here," commented Trillium. She hugged Snape's arm to her and smiled up at him. "All the better for us."

He looked down at her with that same silly grin playing about his mouth. "As you say," he replied. They strolled in silence for a bit, enjoying each other's closeness. Eventually they approached the broken boulder and, by tacit agreement, sat on the broad, flat piece.

Trillium spoke softly. "Back where it all started, eh?" she said slyly. "It appears there is room for two here, after all."

"Well--" Severus said consideringly-- "A lot has changed this year, hasn't it? I mean, there were two...and now there are Two." He hardly bothered to glance about for watching eyes before putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. In an excess of good feeling, brought on collectively by the fine evening, the chance to be alone with Trillium, and that indefinable something-in-the-air called Romance--not to mention the fact that for once he was having a rather good hair day--he laid his cheek on her hair, pressed a kiss there, and said something that surprised even him.

"There's nothing I wouldn't share with you, Trillium."

Even as he heard himself say it, he felt her freeze. Oh, damn, he thought. Why did I have to say that? What will she possibly think? It's too soon. She'll think me presumptuous. Damn, damn, damn.

And Trillium thought, now why did he say that? Does he mean--is he going to--well, it is rather soon, but--heavens, I never thought he'd do it! She waited breathlessly for what would follow.

Except that quite a bit of time passed, and Severus said nothing. Finally Trillium pulled away from him and turned to look at him. He wouldn't--quite--meet her eyes. But she wouldn't--couldn't--let him backslide.

"Nothing, Severus?" she prompted, bringing his hand up and laying it against her cheek. She turned her head just a little and kissed his palm. His eyes closed as if he was in pain. She waited. Finally he opened his eyes and she saw the torment in them. She clung to his hand, willing him to say more.

"There's nothing I wouldn't share with you--if I could," he said heavily. "But the Dark Lord still owns my life, Trillium. As long as he exists, I have nothing to share with you. Nothing, that is," he said starkly, "except danger and uncertainty. Nothing you would want. Nothing you should have to put up with."

"I would put up with just about anything to share your life, Severus," Trillium said boldly. He did meet her eyes then. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit forward of me to come right out and say it. But I'm afraid if I don't make you see just how much I care about you, you'll get all noble and disappear out of my life." His eyes scooted away again. "Oh, yes, I know you, Severus. That's what you tried to do before, but I battered my way past your defenses. And I'll do it again, if you make me."

He laughed. "I have no doubt you would." He stood and moved a few feet away to the water's edge, kicking pebbles into the water, hands curled into fists at his sides. "But I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how to defeat the Dark Lord--or, really, if he even can be defeated. After all, if anyone could do it, I would think Dumbledore could--and he hasn't, has he?" He resumed his rock-kicking.

Something sparked in Trillium's mind. "If anyone could do it--but Severus, it's not Dumbledore who's supposed to vanquish Voldemort. Don't you remember? It's Harry--or at least that's what the prophecy seems to say."

He turned to stare at her in amazement. "How in blazes do you know about the prophecy?"

"Oh," she said, smoothing her dress with a smug expression, "I hear things. People talk, you know." He crossed his arms and tapped one toe ominously. She laughed. "Oh, very well. If you must know, Dumbledore and Minerva told me when they were interviewing me for this position last summer. They knew I was Harry's aunt, so I suppose they thought I had a right to know."

"Oh." For a moment, Severus had forgotten about her relationship to Harry. "Well, we all know how wonderful Potter is," he sneered, "but I don't see him vanquishing anyone. And after five chances, at that!" He harrumphed noisily, as if daring her to come to Harry's defense.

"No," she said quietly. "Voldemort is still with us. But perhaps it's time for Harry to try again." He looked up sharply as she continued. "Well, you must admit, Severus, Harry has become much more adept in all of his skills this year. I don't want to knowingly send him into mortal danger any more than you do--" she met his gaze squarely and he colored guiltily-- "and certainly not just because I want to hurry up and smooth the way for you and I to share a life together." She sighed.

"Have you--mentioned this idea to Dumbledore?" Severus asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. "No. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It just seems unconscionable to put Harry in harm's way like that. I can't see how the prophecy can possibly be true...but then, as you say, no one else is leaping forward to take Voldemort on."

"So once again Potter comes between us," Severus said sourly.

"What?"

"Well, it's true. Even you admit he's probably intended to be the means of Voldemort's destruction, but you can't see past the danger to him because he's your nephew and--you like him."

"Actually, Severus, I love him. Dearly!"

"Fine. You love him. You see what it's come down to, don't you, Trillium? I always knew this would happen in the end--that it would come down to your choosing one of us--him...or me." His lips twisted with something like rage, but she knew he was hurt. Justifiable or not, he continued to see all odds stacked against him, in every way possible. She had no idea what to say to make it better. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

Trillium jumped up from her seat on the rock and said sharply, "You stop right there, Severus Snape!" Startled by the unaccustomed edge of anger in her voice, he stopped and turned to face her, his face unreadable.

"How dare you say that?" she breathed as she advanced on him. "I have never--ever--" punctuating her words with sharp little pokes in his chest-- "heard anything so ridiculous. Why can't you get it through your thick head--" more poking-- "that I love both of you? I have no intention of choosing between the two of you, ever." He looked dubious. She stopped poking him and just stared at him, her chest rising and falling quickly in agitation.

"You are the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, Severus. There, I've said it. I can't be plainer than that. I want to be with you forever, always, whatever it takes because--I love you. When will you see th--"

But he broke off her tirade in mid-word by the simple expedient of pulling her to him and claiming her lips in a hard kiss. When he finally released her, she stood dazed for a moment. He looked at her--eyes bright, cheeks pink with indignation--and had to smile.

"Severus," she said sternly, not swayed by the smile or, apparently, by the kiss, "you must come to terms with this jealousy if we're to have a future together. Harry is no threat to you. He's a relation. But you--you're my other half." She looked pleadingly into his eyes. "You are the man I love above everyone else. If you can't bring yourself to believe that, then...well, then I'll just have to give up on you. Believe me," she assured him upon seeing his worried look, "I don't want to. But as much as I want a life with you, I won't have one filled with jealousy and empty of harmony. Because Harry will be a part of my life from now on, too."

She gently removed herself from his grasp. "I think you'd better give some serious thought to what you really want, Severus. I know what I want, but maybe I shall have to face that I just can't have it." He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head sharply. "Don't say anything now. I don't want to hear 'But, Trillium' from you. I want you to think about this. I want you in my life, for the rest of my life. I'll do anything to make that happen. But Harry is family, Severus. He's part of the package. He's part of me, just as you are. You need to decide if you can live with that. I really hope you can. But I don't just want words from you. You need to be sure. When you are...come find me."

She slipped past him, and he didn't stop her. Her skirts billowed in the evening breeze as she made her way back to the castle through the twilight, her heart aching with the knowledge that adding Harry to Snape's already-heavy burden of Voldemort's control over his life could quite possibly be too much for him to accept.

Snape knew an ultimatum when he heard it. As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew the potential headache of being related to Harry Potter was insignificant next to the empty pit his life would be without Trillium. Really, there was only one thing any sane man could do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As Trillium approached the main staircase, resigned to returning to her quarters to spend the night trying in vain to sleep, she heard footsteps ringing on the floor behind her. She turned to see Severus pounding down the corridor toward her.

"Trillium, wait!" he panted. He came up to her and puffed, "You're right. Why are you always right? But you are. Of course you are. I've been an ass." She swallowed a smile and regarded him somberly. He held out a hand. "Come. Let's go see Dumbledore. It's time to come up with a plan."

Hesitantly she put her hand in his. "A plan for...?"

"For vanquishing the Dark Lord."

She looked a question at him.

"With Potter's--Harry's--help." Yes. Yes! she thought.

"Are you sure?" she asked him.

"Completely. Trillium, you--you are the love of my life." He smoothed the hair off her face with one hand. A pair of passing Ravenclaw third-year girls gawked to see the Potions master doing something so unheard-of, but he didn't even notice them. "You're willing to take on Voldemort to spend a lifetime with me--how can I do any less for you with Pot--with Harry?"

She smiled up at him, but clearly was not quite convinced.

"Truly," he said earnestly. "I will make an effort to--to see him the way you do. It may take some time, you understand. But I'll make an honest effort, you'll see. I can't let you go. With you I can face any number of Dark Lords--but only if you're there with me."

She was satisfied. "Then what are we waiting for?" she said. They walked the few steps further to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Trillium said firmly, "Fizzing Whizbee!" The gargoyle moved aside to allow them to step onto the revolving stairway.

Time to plan the downfall of the Dark Lord.


	21. The Reckoning

CHAPTER 21

The Reckoning

Harry was aware of an odd feeling of...he wasn't sure what--boredom? Restlessness? Something left undone? Perhaps it was a combination of all of these. It nagged at him during the last weeks of school until finally he mentioned it to Ron and Hermione, thinking they might be able to offer a solution.

Late one pleasantly hot afternoon in early June, the three of them sat at the foot of a jumbled pile of boulders that stretched down to the lake's edge. Their trousers were rolled up and they dangled their legs nearly to the knees in the numbingly cold water. Conversation had stalled and they half-drowsed in the heat reflecting off the rocks.

"Mmm," sighed Hermione, "this feels so good!" Lazily she swished her feet back and forth, mesmerized by the sunlight sparkling on the little waves she was creating. Ron had laid back on his rock and, nearly asleep, merely grunted in reply.

Harry stirred. "Hey, you guys?" he said. Hermione glanced at him inquiringly. "Do you feel like there's something we were supposed to do?" Harry asked. Ron shaded his eyes with one hand and turned to look at Harry for a moment. Then he dropped his hand and grunted again.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "Did you forget to turn in an assignment or something?"

"No." Harry shook his head; a lock of black hair fell across his forehead; impatiently, he shoved it away with a sweaty forearm. "I don't think it's anything like that. It's just--well, I dunno--school gets out soon and it feels like we've forgotten something. Or like something's...missing."

Hermione swished her feet some more. "Well, I can't think what it could be, Harry. Sure you don't just have end-of-term paranoia?"

He chuckled. "Ha ha, very funny." He stared out across the lake. "Doesn't it seem awfully--peaceful--for the end of a school year?"

Ron finally sat up. "You know what it is?" he said. "It's You-Know-Who."

"What?" Hermione said. "But Harry hasn't even seen him this year. So--"

"Well, yeah, that's it, don't you see?" Ron broke in. "You-Know-Who hasn't done anything to Harry all year. That's what's missing." Harry and Hermione looked at him blankly and he tsk'd loudly. "Oh, buck _up_, you two. Every year Harry ends up having a go at vanquishing Vold--er, You-Know-Who--but this year nothing's happened. It's like he's hiding out or something. I mean, where _is_ he, anyway, d'you suppose?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "I suppose you could be right," he said slowly. "Not that I miss Voldemort, or anything, but it does seem odd that he hasn't tried anything this year. For a change!"

"No, well, don't forget about your aunt, Harry," Hermione reminded him. "Maybe that was an attempt to get you to go looking for him."

Harry shook his head. "Not me--Snape." When this drew puzzled looks from Ron and Hermione, he went on. "I think that was to lure Snape there so Voldemort could get revenge on him for being a traitor." He grinned. "I sort of...overheard him talking to my aunt about it."

"So what's up with them, anyway, Harry--do you know?" Ron asked, distracted by speculation about Harry's potential relation to Snape.

Harry grimaced and shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like I can just ask her, is it? She already gave Snape and me what-for just for not getting along--I'm afraid to even bring it up." Ron chuckled, and Hermione looked pained.

"Well, it can't be easy for her," she said. "Everyone knows you and Snape are practically mortal enemies. And if she loves both of you--well, it's got to be an impossible situation for her, hasn't it?"

Ron snorted, but Harry looked thoughtful. "I--I suppose...maybe," he said finally. "But look here, Hermione, it's not easy for me, either. I mean, Snape as my uncle? How awful would _that_ be?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to tsk. "But how much more awful, surely, if he's the only man your aunt could ever love and she were made to feel like she had to give him up because you and he don't get on. Harry! That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard of!"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Actually, as much as he hated to admit it, he did see. A tragically romantic picture came into his mind: his aunt and Snape parting sorrowfully--forever--for the good of...him? He sighed. Put like that, it did sound selfish. He still couldn't understand in the least what there was about Snape that could make anyone--least of all his own aunt, and in a romantic sense, at that--want him. But it seemed she did.

Harry looked at Hermione, his face reflecting the misery and conflict he felt. She patted his arm sympathetically.

"I do understand, Harry--really I do. After all, I'm not any fonder of Snape than you are. But--well, I just think something's got to give. You know?"

He sighed gloomily. "I know. And that something is me." He stared morosely into the sparkling water. "You know, sometimes I really hate growing up."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On the far side of the boulders, well within earshot but invisible to the threesome who were staying within reach of the water, Snape sat in glorious solitude. The pile of boulders rose from the water's edge forming a series of seats where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat, but at the top of the heap, some little distance above them, was a sheer drop down the back side for a distance of about twenty feet to a small patch of sand. To reach this idyllic spot one had to swim or wade in the waist-deep water round the lake side of the boulders or, as Snape had done, walk some distance round the landward side where there was an easier place to climb down.

At the first sound of approaching voices he had pounded the sand in annoyance at having his lone retreat interrupted. When the voices came closer and he realized just who the intruders were, he gritted his teeth in impotent fury. How far did he have to go, he wondered, that Potter wouldn't sooner or later show up and destroy his peace?

When he heard the sound of shoes and socks being removed and feet splashing in the water, he relaxed a little. If no one was actually going to be swimming, his presence would probably remain unknown. Soon it was clear from their desultory conversation that they were continue to stay where they were, and he relaxed a bit more.

Until he heard what they were talking about.

At mention of Voldemort's name, Snape's eyes flew open. What was Potter saying--he wondered why Voldemort hadn't tried to attack him this year? Snape snorted to himself. The nerve of Potter, to suppose Voldemort had nothing better to do than think up new ways to try to kill him! What rot. Despite his own hatred of the Dark Lord, Snape was momentarily insulted on his behalf by Potter's overblown idea of his own importance.

Then he heard his own name, and Voldemort was forgotten in Snape's new indignation at Potter and his friends indulging in speculation about his love life. He positively seethed, and his agitation was all the greater since he knew he could say nothing, lest they discover him listening there like a common eavesdropper.

When Hermione reproached Harry for his selfishness, Snape pumped his fist in the air. You tell him! he cheered silently. He waited for Harry's reply. When it finally came, Snape was surprised to hear him take on the responsibility for smoothing relations between them. He hadn't thought Potter had it in him to take on responsibility for much of anything, let alone improving relations with someone he had--with good reason--hated since first meeting him six years ago. It was tempting to dismiss it as a fluke.

Then again, how blissful it would be to spend a lifetime with Trillium without the constant spectre of his disastrous relationship with her nephew hanging over them. The only other way he could see that happening was for Potter to--well, not to put too fine a point on it--to die. And how likely was _that_ to occur any time soon? Snape sighed glumly. Under different circumstances--a lifetime ago, it felt like--he mightn't have been so squeamish about ridding himself of Potter. It would be so easy--a little accident in Potions class, a fatal fall during a Quidditch match, or merely luring him to one of the many long-forgotten, hidden spaces in Hogwarts castle and leaving him there to rot--a natural enough thing to happen, considering how often he'd been caught wandering places in the castle he had no business being. But then, Snape comforted himself, the man he had been back then could never have had a future with Trillium Lovejoy. What harm was there in acquiring a few scruples, really, if it was for a good cause like that?

After a while, the conversation on the other side of the rocks having died down, Snape lost himself in pleasant daydreams--an indulgence he didn't often allow himself--and gradually fell asleep. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered their scattered bits and pieces and returned to the castle for dinner, Snape slept on unaware.

He woke very suddenly just before dark in about as unpleasant a fashion as possible: Voldemort was Summoning him. Just him? he wondered as he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark burned. Or were all the Death Eaters being gathered? For a moment he considered not answering the Summons--after all, considering Snape's part in the recent raid on Malfoy Manor, Voldemort could no longer mistake where his loyalties lay. But he decided rather to present himself as ordered and see if anything at all could be salvaged of the situation.

He trudged to the edge of the Forbidden Forest and cut across a corner of it to the road, avoiding the main gates of Hogwarts where he might be seen by Hagrid and have to answer a lot of silly questions--where had he been, where was he going, didn't he know he was missing dinner, and the like. A chilly breeze sprang up, raising gooseflesh on his arms. He stood for a moment and savored its freshness, and wondered when--or indeed if--he would again stand here, a free man within sight of his heart's desire, savoring the evening wind.

Then, reluctantly, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the place appointed for him to meet his fate.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Harry, Ron, and Hermione noticed Snape's absence at dinner and wondered where he was.

They were not alone in their curiosity which, as dinner wore on with no sign of him, seemed unlikely to be satisfied.

Professor Lovejoy said quietly to a concerned Professor McGonagall, "I can't imagine where Severus has got to, can you? I know he was going to spend some time out by the lake this afternoon--it's usually where he goes for a little solitude, he thinks I don't know about it--but surely he's not still out there. And I certainly can't find him anywhere in the school. I confess I'm a bit worried, Minerva."

"There, there, not to worry, Trillium. It's likely he just got caught up in one of his books or something," Professor McGonagall reassured her. Privately, however, she too thought it was odd that Snape should have disappeared quite so thoroughly, especially considering his tendency of late to spend most of his free time with Professor Lovejoy. And not even appearing for dinner? Heavens, as gaunt as he sometimes appeared, the man never missed a meal! She glanced at Dumbledore and, seeing him looking back at her, tipped her head at Snape's empty place with an inquiring look. Dumbledore replied with the merest of shrugs. Then he stood and raised his hands for silence.

"The end of another year is almost upon us," he said solemnly. His lips twitched the barest amount. "I'm sure you'll be glad to see the examiners arrive tomorrow morning." Groans followed this announcement. He waited for the noise to die down before continuing.

"It would be best if you were to head off to bed directly. Prefects, please see that your house members return promptly to their dormitories. There will be no evening activities tonight, and the Library is closed; you'll want to be well rested for your examinations tomorrow. So--off you go, everyone. Sleep well."

The fifth- and seventh-years who were due to sit, respectively, their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams the following day looked a bit haggard as they filed out of the Great Hall. The other students thought with relief of the normal year-end tests that were all they had to endure and felt thankful.

Professors McGonagall and Lovejoy approached Dumbledore as he was leaving the Great Hall.

"Albus, have you a moment?" Professor McGonagall asked, her tone urgent. He stopped and turned with an inquiring look. "It's Severus," she blurted before she could stop herself. "That is--he seems to be--missing," she went on hurriedly. "No one has seen him since lunch. He was going to the lake this afternoon--" she looked at Professor Lovejoy, who nodded in confirmation-- "but no one has seen him since. Trillium is somewhat worried--and so am I, Albus." She rattled to a halt.

Dumbledore regarded her gravely. "Ah," he said at last. "The situation has a touch of déjà vu about it, does it not? It feels very like the evening when Severus came to me about a missing Professor Lovejoy." Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, and she gasped.

"Oh, no. You don't think Severus has been--taken--do you, Albus?" she breathed. Professor Lovejoy, noting with alarm how pale Professor McGonagall had turned, put an arm around her quickly, afraid the shock might prove too much for the old lady. She glanced at Dumbledore in dismay.

"What are you saying, Headmaster?" she asked. "_Do_ you think it's possible that Voldemort has got to him somehow?" Her voice shook.

Dumbledore sighed. "I think it extremely likely, my dear. After you both gave Voldemort the slip recently, I would indeed be surprised if Severus were not called to account for his treachery." He held her gaze for a moment. "I must say, Trillium, that I am not overly hopeful about the outcome of such a meeting. But," he said, smiling faintly, "I'm getting rather used to miracles happening around here, so...let us not lose hope completely."

"What do you think we ought to do, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Should we alert the Min--"

Just then they heard footsteps pounding up the staircase toward them, and Harry burst into sight.

"Professor Dumbledore!" he shouted. "Sir--you'll never believe this! I've just got a message _from Professor Snape_!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Death Eaters responded to a Summons from the Dark Lord, they didn't necessarily know where they were to go. They only had to concentrate on being where Voldemort was, and they arrived at the right place.

Snape, Apparating to the Dark Lord now, found himself somewhere that was all too familiar: in the main hall of Malfoy Manor. He supposed he should have known Voldemort would choose this venue; the Manor boasted one of the most spectacularly dank and gloomy dungeons anywhere in England. He smiled faintly, wondering if he would live long enough to see it again.

"So," Lucius Malfoy said from the doorway. "You _do_ still answer your master's call, then? I rather wondered if you would show up." He came very close and, with a furtive look round, whispered in Snape's ear, "Come with me." Aloud, he said, "Since you're the first to arrive, you'll have a bit of a wait, I'm afraid. The Dark Lord doesn't wish to be disturbed until everyone has gathered. Come, I'll have a servant show you to a room where you can rest."

He walked to the doorway and ushered Snape out of the room. Rather than call a servant, however, Lucius motioned him across the cavernous stone entry to a staircase that rose majestically to the floor above and accompanied him up the stairs. Snape looked at Lucius oddly and opened his mouth to say something, but Lucius shook his head in warning and said softly, under cover of their footsteps on the flagstones, "Wait."

They reached the top of the staircase and Lucius led the way down a corridor extending off to the left, stopping before one of several doors that all looked alike. He opened it and motioned for Snape to enter. Lucius followed him in and, with a last cautious look down the hall in both directions, he closed the door.

Snape raised one haughty eyebrow. "And what, may I ask, is all this about? Creeping round like a thief in your own house--no servants--what's going on, Lucius?"

Lucius eyed him measuringly. "Tell me something," he said, ignoring Snape's question. "Just how loyal are you to the Dark Lord, Severus?"

Snape stared at him, taken aback by the question. He answered with one of his own, voice tinged with suspicion.

"Are you questioning my loyalty, Lucius?" Outwardly calm, he did an admirable job of hiding his tautened nerves behind a supercilious mask.

"I fear you've--er--misunderstood me," Lucius said. He looked into Snape's eyes seriously for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh and looked away. He paced about the large bedroom--picking things up and putting them down again, twitching the draperies over the window, and returning at last to where Snape stood watching him, mystified and growing impatient.

"Can I trust you, Severus?" Lucius asked him bluntly.

This was ominous. Snape wasn't certain he liked the sound of it. "With what?" he asked cautiously. You could never be too careful with some people, and he was well aware that Lucius was as close as anyone could be to the Dark Lord.

"Oh, nothing much," Lucius said with an offhanded wave. "Merely...my life."

Snape stared at him, thinking that a more appropriate question was whether he could trust Lucius. What game was this?

"I don't understand," he said at last. "What do you want from me?"

Lucius bowed his head, then met Snape's eyes squarely. "I want your help destroying the Dark Lord." He said it as casually as if he'd just indicated a preference for treacle tart for dinner that night.

The longer they stared at one another, the more Lucius' smile grew--with Snape becoming increasingly uncomfortable. How could this be? Lucius Malfoy was the Dark Lord's most faithful follower. Why would he even consider such a thing?

"Why would you even consider such a thing?" he blurted. "Are you mad?"

Lucius shook his head. "I was mad to ever follow him in the first place, Severus. Mad and greedy and arrogant. It's a bit late to admit that now, I realize. But it's not too late for Draco. There's still a chance for him to avoid this hellish servitude."

"A chance? To do what, pray tell?" Snape demanded. "What exactly are you up to, Lucius?"

"Ah, but you never answered my question," Lucius reminded him, shaking an admonitory finger at Snape. "Can I trust you, Severus?" He laughed. "Although I suppose it's a bit late to ask, now--since you've already heard my secret."

"You're serious, aren't you?" Snape breathed. He looked as if he might faint.

"Never more so," Lucius assured him briskly. "Oh, come now, Severus,'" he continued mockingly. "It's not like either of us is a green student. We're men of the world--wizards with a great deal of power at our command. And--" he added slyly-- "it's not as if we've never used the Killing Curse before. Think of it, Severus. What could be easier? With both of us acting together, we'd almost certainly be successful. Can you give me one good reason not to do it?" he asked, since Snape remained silent and brooding.

"But--why take such a terrible chance?" Snape asked. "You have so much to lose."

"I, Severus? _I _have so much to lose--or _we_ have so much to lose?" Snape didn't reply. "Truly," Lucius said softly, "there's not so very much left that I mind losing." He looked at Snape. "Not with Narcissa gone."

Ah, so that was it. Of course, Snape thought. Lucius' mind was temporarily unhinged by the death of his wife, that was it, and he was nursing some grievance against Voldemort because of it. Well, as things were, Snape could certainly sympathize. Now that Trillium was in his life, he didn't know what he would do in Lucius' place if--

"Well?" Lucius snapped. "Will you help me or not?" He folded his arms across his chest and waited impatiently.

Snape's mouth opened and "Of course," he heard himself say. He felt a bit dazed and shook his head slightly to clear it. Had he really just entered into a pact to kill the Dark Lord?

"Don't worry," Lucius said, amused. "It gets easier the more you think about it."

Little by little, Snape's practical side reasserted itself. "Wait," he said desperately. "Are you--"

Whatever he had been going to say was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Lucius put a warning finger up to his lips. "Not a word, mind," he said softly. "This is just between us. I'll let you know when it's time." Snape looked after Lucius helplessly as he strode to the door and opened it.

McNair and Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the corridor. They looked at Lucius curiously, then turned cold gazes upon Snape.

"So he did come," Bellatrix purred. "And you doubted him, McNair."

McNair advanced upon Snape and took his arm. "Out," he said curtly, nodding at the door. Snape jerked his arm away.

"Leave off," he snarled. He aimed a Look at Lucius that clearly said, Traitor! Lucius gave a tiny shake of his head and frowned.

"Not a word from you," McNair ordered. "The Dark Lord wants you, _now_. Look sharp." Snape walked out of the room with head held high, refusing to be led like a recalcitrant child.

They proceeded down the staircase and into the main hall, where now there stood a large group of Death Eaters, all masked. Snape was sure if he could see beneath the masks, all of the Death Eaters not captured and taken to Azkaban would be present here tonight.

It was, after all, something of an occasion: the execution (he wondered) or torture (at the very least) of Severus Snape, former Death Eater, Hogwarts Potions master, and now--

"Traitor."

The word hung heavily in the air. All heads turned to the doorway, where Voldemort had entered unnoticed while all eyes were on Snape. The better to effect a grand entrance, Snape thought irreverently.

Voldemort circled Snape. Lucius and the others fell back to a respectful distance. Snape watched them move away. He still didn't quite believe Lucius had been serious--destroy the Dark Lord?--but he had known all along what the purpose was for this Summons. At long last the Dark Lord had decided it was time for Snape to pay for his duplicity over the years. The others were here to witness his punishment--some would enjoy it, while others would be intended to take warning for any waywardness of their own.

Snape tried to relax and not think too much. It didn't really matter whether Voldemort gave him a chance to speak or not--there wasn't much he could say in his defense.

No, Snape was certain that the end--_his_ end, to be precise--was near. The only thing he didn't know was how Voldemort was going to do it. All at once? No...no, that would be too easy. No doubt half the fun would be in watching Snape suffer. Ah, then torture it would almost certainly be. He stifled a small sigh. Suddenly the Dark Lord's posturing and taunting seemed endlessly tedious--why didn't he just

"Get on with it!" Snape roared, his patience at an end. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers at this foolhardiness. Hearing himself, he thought with grim amusement that he really must curb his alarming tendency, so frequent of late, to say such things aloud the minute they came into his mind.

Voldemort stiffened. Then he chuckled. "Why, if you wish it, of course, Snape," he said almost gently. "Anything for my...faithful servant." He raised his wand and thundered, "_Crucio_!"

Snape's last conscious act was to hurl a hasty mental image at the one mind he knew from experience was unlikely to be guarded against such intrusions, and he imbued the communication with every ounce of desperation he could summon up. He had little hope that he would be saved; but with death so close at hand, Snape suddenly realized he was not ready to let Voldemort snatch away what little life he did have.

His last thought surprised even him:

_Gods, if only Potter were here!_


	22. Comeuppance

CHAPTER 22

Comeuppance

For a moment after Harry made his announcement, the three professors stood frozen in shock. Dumbledore was the first to recover.

"What do you mean--what sort of message?" he asked quickly.

Harry panted, his cheeks pink with excitement. "He used Legilimency, Professor!" At Dumbledore's raised eyebrow, Harry flushed guiltily. "Yes, well--it was the last thing I was expecting, sir. I mean, there's been no sign of Voldemort all year."

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder. "Not to worry, Harry. If Professor Snape is sending you messages through Legilimency, it is precisely because he knows you do not guard your thoughts. Perhaps, at least this time, it is for the best."

Professor Lovejoy could restrain herself no longer. "But what was the message, Harry?" she asked eagerly.

"I could see Sn--Professor Snape," he corrected hastily, glancing guiltily at Dumbledore, "in the center of a ring of Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy was one of them--he wasn't masked. Voldemort was standing there with his wand raised."

Professor McGonagall interrupted him. "Where, Harry? Do you know where they are?"

"Oh--yes, at Malfoy Manor." Harry grimaced. "Voldemort was performing the Cruciatus curse. I--I think Professor Snape lost consciousness right after he contacted me, because everything went black and I couldn't feel him in my mind any longer."

Professor Lovejoy wrung her hands in agitation. "Oh, no--oh, Severus," she whispered. Professor McGonagall patted her gently, looking at Dumbledore with a worried face.

"What do you think, Albus?" she asked quietly. "Should we gather the Order? At the very least, we probably ought to inform the Minister--or--do you think..." She trailed off distractedly.

Dumbledore rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose we should get Kingsley and his Aurors together," he said. "But there may be a rather different problem this time than we faced in rescuing Professor Lovejoy. They were expecting Severus to come after her--_wanted_ him to, in order to trap him for Voldemort--but now that he is in Voldemort's grasp, a rescue attempt is the very last thing they will want. I would be very surprised indeed if Lucius did not have the place fully warded against intruders." He shook his head doubtfully. "I fear that gaining access to Malfoy Manor may prove to be a serious obstacle, at least if we're to be in time to be any good at all to Severus."

Suddenly a voice spoke out of the shadows. "I can get you past the wards."

And Draco Malfoy stepped into the light.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Snape woke to total blackness. Or--is this what death feels like? he wondered. At first he didn't move, attempting to see if he could hear where he was; but there was no sound at all, and not the faintest shred of light. He lay on a cold, hard surface. He wasn't in pain, particularly, which was the main reason he thought he might be dead--after all, the dead felt no pain.

Then he tried to raise his head--a mistake, as he immediately found--and knew he was most emphatically not dead. Pain exploded behind his eyes before his head had even left the floor. He whimpered and stopped moving. There--there...that was a little better. Gasping, he considered what to do.

He tried moving just the smallest tip of one finger--painful, but bearable. Then a foot. No--too much, too soon. He lay quietly, contemplating what he imagined his situation to be. It seemed obvious that Voldemort had got tired of playing with him once he'd lost consciousness and had had him brought here. He must be in the dungeon. He grunted with pained amusement at that--and here he'd wondered whether he would ever see it again.

He wished he had his wand, but he knew they wouldn't take a stupid risk like that. Oh, well. Was he not forever stressing the importance of wandless--and wordless--magic to his students? A poor teacher he would be if he didn't follow his own advice.

_Lumos_! he cried silently. He had no wand, but a faint luminescence spread like a halo around his body. Yes, indeed--as he had thought, he was in the dungeon. He lifted his head again, braving the cascade of pain just long enough to ascertain that he did not appear to be bound in any way. He was uncertain whether to find this reassuring--Voldemort usually had reasons for the things he did. Then again, perhaps some Death Eater or House Elf had simply dragged him down here, thrown him inside the door, and left him. As an afterthought, he rolled his eyes toward the door, but it appeared firmly shut. He closed his eyes and the pale light he had conjured dimmed and went out, leaving him in darkness once more.

Snape wondered briefly whether Potter had received his mental message--wouldn't it be ironic if he had suddenly started practicing Occlumency on a regular basis?--and if he had, what he was doing about it.

Then exhaustion claimed him, and within moments he slept as one dead.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Draco faced them almost defiantly.

"You?" Harry said rudely. "Why would you help rescue Snape?" You're practically a Death Eater yourself, Malfoy."

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. Harry subsided, but he continued to glare suspiciously at Draco.

Dumbledore, head tilted to one side, regarded Draco curiously. "As--er--poorly as that was put, Mr Malfoy, I must admit that I, too, am possessed of an extraordinary curiosity as to your motive for offering to help. Perhaps you would be so good as to satisfy it?"

Draco looked round at all of them: Dumbledore, politely inquisitive; Professor McGonagall, tapping her toe with barely restrained impatience; Professor Lovejoy, doubting but hopeful; and, of course, Harry--exuding disbelief, mistrust, and hostility from every pore.

"Well, Headmaster, it--it was partly what you said earlier this year, about deciding what we stand for." Draco looked earnestly at Dumbledore as he spoke. "My father has devoted most of his life to serving the Dark Lord, and he expects me to do the same once I leave here. But..." He shook his head and for a moment seemed lost for words.

"But I know a little of what it means to be a Death Eater already. So far I haven't become one, but I know everyone thinks all of us Slytherins are already working for the Dark Lord." He looked at Harry. "They all hate us. Really..._hate_ us." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what I want to do with my life yet or if I want to go the same way as my father--I don't have strong feelings either way, really. But I do know I don't want to spend the rest of my life being hated."

Harry flushed at that. He didn't know what to think. Was Malfoy, as Harry suspected, just making this up as he went along? It was hard to imagine him being overly concerned about anyone else's opinion of him. He looked so earnest...but after all the nasty turns he'd served Harry over the past six years, how could Harry suddenly trust him, just like that?

Dumbledore broke in upon Harry's musings. "Well, Mr Malfoy, that's a place to start, at least." He drew himself up. "So--how do you propose we proceed? I take it you are familiar with the wards on your home. Do you know how to remove them?"

"Oh, yes," Draco said eagerly. "I've been able to get past Father's wards practically since I got my first wand."

"Good, excellent," Dumbledore said. "I suggest we remove to my office to discuss the matter further. We don't want to arouse curiosity by standing about here in the corridor. Come along, everyone." He led the way down the main staircase and along to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to his private office.

"Lemon Tarts" was apparently the password of the day. Dumbledore uttered it in ringing tones and, followed by the others, stepped onto the revolving stairway and was carried upward to his office.

When everyone had arrived, he gathered them in the cozy little sitting room off the small, book-lined stairway that led to his observatory. "Let me see," he muttered to himself as they disposed themselves among the various sofas and armchairs crowded into the small space. "What first?"

"Albus," said Professor McGonagall hesitantly. "If I may?"

"Oh, by all means, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

"Albus, I really do think we should alert the Minister," she began. "Aside from anything else, Voldemort has taken one of our teachers--that alone is reason enough to involve the Ministry. I think we are badly in need of the Aurors if we're to get anywhere. From what Harry has said, this is a major gathering of the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor--not just the elderly ones too feeble to be of much good to Voldemort, like last time."

She, Professor Lovejoy, and Dumbledore huddled before the fire, discussing and discarding various courses of action in low voices. Harry and Draco, while not deliberately ignored, were effectively excluded from the conversation for the moment. Harry waited for a few minutes, hoping to be re-included in the discussion, but time dragged on and the animated planning continued; the professors seemed to have forgotten his and Draco's presence.

Finally he could stand it no longer. He rose and quietly made his way to the door. He looked back for a moment, but the three adults were too deeply engrossed in their plans to notice him. He opened the door and walked out, closing it silently behind him. He set out determinedly toward the main entrance of the castle; sparing no thought for Filch and the evening curfew rules, he marched up to--and then out of--the heavy wooden doors. They swung shut behind him with a muffled _thunk_.

The night was still, warm, and beautiful, the sky a vast, unbroken blanket of stars. Harry took a deep breath, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, then started down the hill toward the main gates. He intended to Apparate to Malfoy Manor and knew he couldn't do it from inside the school's boundaries, with all its protections in place; certainly Hermione, with her frequent quotes from _Hogwarts, A History_, had mentioned the fact often enough.

Suddenly he heard running footsteps behind him. Startled, he whipped round to see a pale blob that could only be Draco's blond head bobbing toward him through the darkness. Harry wheeled and kept on walking, determined to ignore his nemesis.

"Wait--hold up, Potter," Draco panted as he came up even with Harry. He trotted to keep up with Harry, who by now was almost running. Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's arm. "Wait!" he repeated breathlessly.

Harry stopped abruptly and yanked his arm out of Draco's grasp. "Look here, Malfoy," he gritted out. "Just what are you playing at? Trying to lure _all_ the Hogwarts professors to Malfoy Manor so Voldemort can get rid of them? Or--" His eyes narrowed. "Or is it just Dumbledore you're after? Of course," he breathed. "That's it, isn't it? Voldemort wants to destroy Dumbledore, and you're going to lead him right into the trap." He stepped closer to Draco and raised his wand threateningly. "Over my dead body."

Draco held up both hands. "As usual, you're jumping to conclusions," he sneered. "You're so perfect, aren't you, Potter? Going to run off and save the world all by yourself, are you? Well, I've got news for you. You're not perfect. And you know what else? I'm not dirt under your feet." They glared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily.

"You'll never get through the wards on your own, you know," Draco continued. "And then what? They'll know you're there, and the Dark Lord will have what he wants--you, with no one to help you." He saw the flicker of uncertainty in Harry's eyes and pounced on it with uncanny aim.

"You might be good, Potter. But what if--_what if_--you're not quite good enough? Is it really worth turning down my help just so you _might_ live to say you vanquished the Dark Lord all by yourself?"

Harry scowled and half turned away. "We're wasting time," he said.

Draco brightened. "_We_?" he asked. Harry looked at him for a long moment. He recognized that an important change seemed to be taking place within Draco, but he hadn't the patience to analyze it just then--nor to think about Ron's reaction when he inevitably found out Harry had gone on this little caper with Draco instead of with him. Harry gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Can you Apparate yet?" he asked tersely.

Draco nodded. "Of course. I'm not old enough to take the exam yet, but at home I've been Apparating for a couple of years." He smirked. "My father hasn't a clue."

Reluctantly, Harry felt some of his suspicion melt away in the face of Draco's unexpected attempt at camaraderie. "Okay, then," he said. "Let's go."

"But what's your plan?" Draco asked hastily.

"Haven't got one," was the reply. "Come on--we'll figure it out when we get there."

They slipped out of the gates and stood at the edge of the road, shivering with excitement. They looked at each other and grinned. Together they said, "One...two...three!"

On three they whirled in place, their synchronization as perfect as if they had rehearsed it, and disappeared, leaving the night silent once more.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lucius Malfoy strode noiselessly through the stone corridors of his ancestral home, hoping he would meet no one else at this hour since, strictly speaking, even though it was his house, his presence in this part of it--the dungeons--was highly questionable. If any of his fellow Death Eaters saw him here, he had no idea what explanation he could give.

Which was why, as he walked, he kept his wand at the ready, hidden at his side among the folds of his robes. Just in case.

He had no very clear idea how he meant to proceed. But he did know he could not in good conscience allow Snape to die--yet another victim of the Dark Lord that Lucius had been unable to save. He smiled grimly at the thought: good conscience? What a joke that was. Had he been possessed of any conscience at all, he never would have allowed himself to follow the Dark Lord into the twisted life of evil and self-indulgence that the past years had become.

Come to that, if he had been possessed of a conscience his beloved Narcissa would still be alive. Had he never joined Voldemort's Death Eaters, the recent raid on his home would not have taken place, leading to the events which had caused him to lose his wife. He carefully avoided thinking of the precise manner in which she had died--could not think of words like "kill" and "fault"--yet another unfortunate effect of the missing aforementioned conscience.

It was much easier to place the blame for her death where Lucius felt it belonged--squarely upon the Dark Lord's shoulders. Lucius Malfoy was a great one for laying blame, although rarely upon himself, even when that was where it truly lay. He came by this fault honestly, having personally observed it all his life in the three prior generations of Malfoys he had been privileged to know. That and a propensity for seeking out undeserved power and gain were among the unfortunate traits he was about to pass on to yet another generation in a long line of Malfoys through his son, Draco.

But of course, since such thoughts required a degree of honest introspection that Lucius was not capable of, he did not much bother with them.

Instead he wondered how best to extricate Snape from the dungeon, preferably from the house altogether, without Voldemort interfering. He was not overly optimistic about the outcome, but he had to try. If nothing else, he owed Snape for having saved his life years ago after a prank gone wrong during their Hogwarts student years. Lucius was not terribly concerned about his own safety at present; he had Plans for Voldemort, who would, Lucius felt, soon have far more serious concerns than one Death Eater escaping his vengeance.

Lucius' footsteps rang out on the stone floor of the lowest level of the Manor. So far, so good--he had not encountered any of his fellow Death Eaters, and he was almost at the cell where Snape was being held. It became progressively darker as he went; even with Snape's presence there was little reason for anyone to visit the dungeons, and the torches on the wall were at longer and longer intervals here.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, and the tip of his wand flared, illuminating walls that glistened with damp. Despite the fact that Malfoy Manor had been his home all his life, Lucius had never felt quite comfortable down here in the dungeons. In his father's time the cells had seen frequent use, both for reasons of his own and on behalf of the Dark Lord. For the most part, since Lucius' succession to ownership of the place he had not spent his time pursuing personal vendettas but instead occupied himself with hunting down and acquiring objects of Dark magic that interested him.

He fastidiously pulled his robes closer about him to avoid contact with the walls and walked a bit faster. In a moment he came to a solid plank door with a heavy iron ring set into it. Quickly he pulled it open and slipped inside.

With the door shut behind him the short corridor was completely black. There were no torches on the walls here; even the Lumos charm gave barely enough light to see by. Lucius moved quickly to the end of the corridor where the cell housing Snape was located. There was no sound from within. The door had been warded by Lucius himself, a move carefully judged on his part to enable him to enter and leave without anyone's knowledge.

He quietly repeated the complicated charm that would allow him to open the door and heard the slight _snick!_ of the latch. He pushed the door open on silent hinges and peered into the Stygian dark that lay beyond the weak glow of his wand.

"Severus?" he said softly.

From the furthest corner he could discern a faint rustling, followed by what sounded like a moan. "Severus?" he repeated more loudly.

"For Merlin's sake," a faint but irritable voice demanded, "put out that damned wand. Do you want to blind me?"

Lucius did as he was told. "Are you able to move?" he asked. "I need to get you out of here. If you can't walk, tell me and I'll levitate you."

Snape managed a weak snort. "If I try to stand up, my head may well explode. And why are you showing up to rescue me now? A bit late for that, surely?" His tone was bitter. "I thought you had a plan."

Lucius grimaced. "I do--but I could hardly put it into practice with the entire force of Death Eaters standing right there, could I?" He moved to where Snape lay and gingerly helped him up, tactfully ignoring the gasps of pain and muttered imprecations elicited from Snape by this procedure.

"Do you think you can walk?" Lucius asked.

"I haven't the foggiest notion," Snape said faintly, "but if it got me out of here, I'd crawl on my lips if I had to."

Lucius' own lips twitched in spite of himself. "Well, give it a try," he said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Snape panted. "You never did say."

"Oh, didn't I?" Lucius said casually. "We're going to the main hall, of course. To destroy the Dark Lord. Sorry, I should have said."

There was a sharp jerk on his arm as Snape abruptly stopped their forward progress. "Destroy-- Are you insane, man? What _can_ you mean?" Despite his weakened condition, the familiar haughty tone of the Hogwarts Potions master was clearly audible in his voice.

"Come now, Severus," Lucius said reasonably. "Surely the idea doesn't come as a complete surprise to you? I've given this a great deal of thought, you know. You're the only person in this house I can count on to help me. The others are too fond of their precious skins to take any kind of action against him--no matter how they may feel personally," he added with some acerbity.

He whirled, his patience at an end. "He _must_ die, Severus. He must! Do you understand? We have no choice. He can't be allowed to simply go on gaining in power until he truly is unstoppable. For now, he can still be killed like anyone else--I'm convinced of it." Snape said nothing but raised a doubtful eyebrow, unconvinced.

"Oh, come, Severus. The Killing Curse, performed by both of us at once? Even the Dark Lord isn't proof against that, I'll wager," Lucius said persuasively.

"Er--but, Lucius," Snape said, desperately trying to stop this runaway train before it derailed with him aboard, "that's just it--it might as well _be_ a wager. We have no idea what it would take to--to kill--" He shook his head, unable to say it.

"And I'm rather fond of my own skin, if it comes to that," he said finally. "What makes you think you can count on me to help you destroy the Dark Lord? What's to stop me going to him right now to tell him of this treachery? Use it to save myself?"

Lucius abruptly let go of Snape's arm and stepped away from him. "By all means, go," he said, opening the door and standing aside politely. Snape, teetering precariously without Lucius' support, glared at him.

"Damn you," he muttered in frustration. "You surely don't believe you can just march into the room and--and _kill_ him? The _Dark Lord_, Lucius, for Merlin's sake! You'd be dead before you got the first word out."

"Oh, I think not," Lucius said casually. "I'm a rather accomplished Occlumens, you know." He sauntered back to Snape and slung Snape's arm over his shoulder again. "I hear you're rather good in that area yourself. No reason he should suspect anything, unless he sees you. And he won't, because I have this." He drew a shimmering mass of fabric out of a pocket in his robe and shook it out. Snape took one look at it and glanced curiously at Lucius.

"Is that--Potter's?" he asked suspiciously. "How did you get it?"

Lucius stared at him. "Potter has an Invisibility Cloak?" he said musingly. "Well, that would explain a few things, certainly. No, this is mine. It was...a gift." From the lingering way in which Lucius smoothed his hand down the cloak, Snape assumed the gift had been from Narcissa. Lucius held it against Snape to judge the length. "Just about right for you, I should think," he said. "You can put it on when we get out of the dungeon. We'll find you a walking stick. I can't keep holding you up like this--if anyone's about, they're bound to notice something odd."

They proceeded along the corridors at a snail's pace, which was the best Snape could manage, until they reached a small door which led from the dungeon into the main part of the house. Beside the door, an old-fashioned elephant-foot umbrella holder--looking rather incongruous in its present surroundings--held an assortment of staffs. Lucius selected one and handed it to Snape.

"This ought to help," he said. "Mind you keep it hidden under the cloak." He watched as Snape flung the Invisibility Cloak over himself; it was considerably longer than Harry's and covered him from head to toe.

"Not a word, now," Lucius warned. He pushed the door open just a crack, checking to make sure no one was in sight. From the little he could see through the limited opening, the hall appeared empty. He motioned to Snape and opened the door wider.

He took two steps into the hall and then his head jerked to the left and he froze, causing the invisible Snape, who had been following closely on his heels, to crash into him from behind. Lucius' face paled and his jaw dropped in a comical expression of incredulity.

"You!" he exclaimed loudly.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Draco and Harry Apparated outside the same side door of Malfoy Manor that had been the point of exit for several captured Death Eaters only a few weeks ago. Draco drew out his wand and muttered a hurried series of incantations under his breath, just softly enough that Harry couldn't hear. He glanced at Harry with an apologetic shrug.

"Nothing personal," he said. "Never know when I might want to use the same spell." He touched his wand to the lock briefly and there was a quiet click when it opened. Draco grinned smugly. "Come on," he whispered. Together they entered the silent house.

"Where do you think everyone is?" Harry asked softly.

Draco grimaced. "In bed, probably. It's like--what--two in the morning, Harry." He started down the corridor and turned when they reached another, larger one off to the right. "This way. We'll check the main hall first. If there's anyone about, they're likely to be there."

They meandered through several more corridors until Harry was thoroughly lost. Just when he was starting to wonder if even Draco had got disoriented, they emerged into a large high-walled room hung with tapestries. A throne-like chair stood directly in front of the huge fireplace. Harry could easily imagine Voldemort holding court and commanding his Death Eaters from here.

"Wow," he whispered. "This is really--" He stopped abruptly as the sound of a door latch echoed through the room. Draco clutched Harry's arm in panic and they stood frozen in place, utterly unable to move.

A small door off to the right was opening very slowly--just a crack at first. The opening faced away from the boys, so they could not at first see who was there.

Then Lucius Malfoy stepped out into the hall. Harry exhaled sharply in relief, and Lucius' head turned suddenly in the boys' direction. When he saw them standing there, he stopped abruptly. His body gave an odd lurch, almost as if someone had pushed him from behind.

"You!" he exclaimed loudly. He recovered quickly and lowered his voice. "What on earth are _you_ doing here?" he hissed.

Draco looked at Harry, who faced Lucius with a determined air. "We're here to destroy Voldemort," he said firmly.

Lucius laughed, seeming genuinely amused. "What--you? Mere boys? What possible harm can you do to the Dark Lord?" He narrowed his eyes at Draco. "And what, pray tell, are you doing here with him? Bad enough that you're hanging about with Gryffindors, Draco; must you let them into our home as well?"

Draco flushed. "Father, I'm here to help Harry," he said. He waited nervously for the recriminations to spew forth. But it seemed he was to be spared.

"Admirable indeed, Draco. But I ask again--what can you possibly hope to accomplish? You're only students, the both of you--hardly a threat to the Dark Lord."

"According to the prophecy, _I'm _a threat to him," Harry said stubbornly. Snape, listening but still hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, started at this. Surely Harry wasn't about to reveal the prophecy to Lucius, who was, when it came right down to it, a Death Eater?

"Ah," Lucius said, his attention definitely caught now. "The prophecy. Can I take it that you possess knowledge of the full contents of the prophecy?" He bent toward Harry, not trying to disguise his eagerness.

"Of course," Harry said matter-of-factly. Snape waited, half horrified, half intrigued in spite of himself. Dumbledore had never made him privy to the contents of the prophecy and Snape was well aware that Voldemort would have given much to hear it.

"It states that the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies (my birthday's on July thirty-first) to parents who have defied the Dark Lord three times. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal." Harry pulled his hair aside, baring his forehead to show Lucius the famous scar. "And it says one of us will kill the other, because we can't both live." He drew himself up. "It also says I have power Voldemort doesn't know about."

Lucius looked at Harry for a long moment, one long, thin finger thoughtfully tapping his chin. "Well," he said at last, "that remains to be seen. So tell me--what kind of plan do you have for destroying the Dark Lord?" He waited with raised eyebrows, managing to convey the opinion that Harry was merely putting on airs.

"Yes, do tell us." An all-too-familiar voice hissed from the shadows. Harry, the Malfoys, and Snape--who had still not revealed himself--turned as one to see Voldemort stroll into the main hall. "I, for one, should really like to hear all about it." He cocked his head to one side and his face twisted into a jovial smile, belied by the cruel red eyes that burned above it.

"Lucius," he continued, drawing out Malfoy's name like a caress. "It appears you must have something to tell me as well, hmm?" The Death Eaters stepped from the shadows one by one and joined Voldemort, surrounding the little group.

Instinctively Harry, Draco, and Lucius drew their wands. Voldemort laughed, doubled over in a parody of mirth. "Oh, please," he said, still laughing. "Don't make me laugh. I beg of you." He giggled insanely.

Unrehearsed, Harry and the Malfoys drew a deep breath and, as one, shouted, "_Avada_--" But that was as far as they got.

Red flashes of light flew at them from every quarter as the Death Eaters responded with Stunners and Petrifying charms of their own. None used the Killing Curse, knowing that Voldemort would want the boys and Lucius taken alive, for reasons of his own. Voldemort himself merely stood and watched, his former gleeful expression gone.

Harry, Draco, and Lucius somehow managed to escape the various hexes being hurled at them. There was a flurry of shouted Protego charms, and their physical dexterity stood them in good stead; Harry had the D.A. practice from the previous year to thank for his good reflexes, and Draco had obviously got in some dueling practice of his own.

Lucius looked around surreptitiously, wondering where Snape had got to and, more importantly, whether any of the Stunners had hit him.

Suddenly the serpent Nagini rose from where she lay behind the great chair. Draco and Lucius continued to fend off the Death Eaters' hexes, but Harry watched the snake warily. She seemed to be watching him, as well.

He backed up a couple of steps without looking where he was going, and bumped into something solid. There was a gasp, quickly stifled but not before Harry heard it. He glanced round but saw no one behind him. Then a hand clamped onto his arm and a muffled voice spoke.

"Get under here--now!" Harry stared at the disembodied hand clutching his arm and then, as if a curtain had been drawn aside, the rest of Snape appeared. He instantly realized that Snape was wearing an Invisibility Cloak and stepped closer. Snape arranged the cloak so that it covered both of them.

"Professor--you're--you're not dead, then?" Harry stammered. Snape rolled his eyes.

"As you see," he said.

But another saw as well. Snape's eyes suddenly shifted to look past Harry, and he let out a stifled curse. Harry followed his gaze and saw Nagini moving rapidly toward them. She stopped before Harry and Snape, her forked tongue flickering busily.

To the Death Eaters, who could not see Snape and Harry, the serpent's behavior was puzzling. A few of them stopped flinging hexes long enough for Draco and Lucius to get in a few Stunners and Petrifying charms of their own, several of which found their marks among the Death Eaters.

Harry and Snape realized that the serpent was well aware of precisely where they were--the Invisibility Cloak was no deterrent to her extraordinary senses--and she was much too close to them for comfort.

Suddenly an odd look crossed Snape's face. He glanced at Harry. "Time to try a little something," he murmured. "Not for casual use, mind you, Potter." He raised his wand as much as he could without it poking out of the cloak, pointed it at Nagini, and cried, "_Sectum sempra_!"

The results were immediate--and disastrous. A vertical split appeared down the length of Nagini's body as she towered over them; her enormous bulk collapsed instantly in a shower of blood. She writhed violently, her tail thrashing everything within reach. Snape and Harry took advantage of the moment to reposition themselves behind the Malfoys, still unnoticed.

Finally Nagini gave a great shudder and then lay motionless in a pool of gore. The Death Eaters were transfixed, completely astonished by the attack and uncertain where it had come from. The Malfoys, too, stood and stared at the wreck of Voldemort's favorite. Lucius alone wore a faint smile, knowing perfectly well whose voice had uttered that spell.

Voldemort stood rooted to the spot in disbelief. "No--no," he said in a barely audible voice. He moved slowly across the floor to Nagini, the Death Eaters parting to make way for him.

Snape whispered to Lucius, "Quickly--while his attention is elsewhere!" Lucius in turn whispered to Draco, who gave a bewildered look behind him. Snape nodded to Harry. "The Killing Curse--and you'd best shield your eyes!"

Without delay, the four of them pointed their wands at Voldemort and uttered the fatal words: "_Avada kedavra_!" This time there was no stopping halfway. With the strength of four wands behind it, the curse exploded in an enormous flash of silent green light; the Death Eaters, nearly all of whom had been watching Voldemort when the curse was uttered, were momentarily blinded.

Snape threw off the cloak and looked around at them as they stood variously shaking their heads and rubbing their eyes, trying to regain their sight. He glanced at Lucius. Finger to his lips, Snape indicated the Death Eaters and made binding motions. Lucius nodded. They pointed their wands at the recovering Death Eaters, beginning with the ones who seemed able to see sufficiently to be dangerous.

Harry and Draco stared, wide-eyed with admiration, as Lucius and Snape performed their Petrifying charms in complete silence. The Death Eaters were too disoriented to put up much resistance. At last it was finished. Snape leaned heavily on his staff, exhaustion in every line of his body. Lucius walked among the Death Eaters, administering judicious kicks here and there to make certain the Petrifying spells had well and truly taken hold.

"Nicely done," said a voice from the doorway. The small band that remained standing upright turned to see Dumbledore, Professors McGonagall and Lovejoy, and Fudge heading an assortment of Order members and Aurors. Dumbledore surveyed the scene. "It appears we are too late," he said with a little smile. "You started without us."

"Good gad," Fudge exclaimed, walking about the hall and examining the Petrified Death Eaters. "Are all of these really--"

"Death Eaters? Yes," said Lucius. "This is all but a few of them. Most of the missing ones have proven disloyal over the years and would never respond to the Dark Lord's Summons." He glanced at Snape, who responded with the barest ghost of a smile. "Yes, indeed, Minister. No more worries about Death Eaters or Dark Lords. Whatever will you find to do now?"

"Ah--yes--well--" Fudge sputtered, not sure how to respond to teasing from Lucius Malfoy, of all people. Like a coward, he waited until Lucius was looking elsewhere and then moved away to merge unobtrusively with some of the Aurors.

Professor Lovejoy stood watching Snape, unable to tear her eyes away from him. Finally he looked her way, and his smile became genuine. She swayed toward him slightly but didn't go to him until he held out his hand. Then she fairly flew to his side.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she breathed. "Are you all right?" Her eyes flicked over him frantically. "What's this for?" she asked, placing her hand over his where he clutched the staff.

"Oh, I just had a little touch of Cruciatus," he said wryly. "It's better now."

Sympathy shone from her eyes. While the others busily bundled up fallen Death Eaters for transport to the Ministry, she whispered, "Severus--is it really over? Is Voldemort truly dead?"

Snape gestured to a small heap of ashes near Nagini's head. "He is," he said. "There is all that remains of him. With four of us performing the curse, it was rather more--effective--than any of us expected." They stood there for a moment regarding the Dark Lord's remains and thinking what a pathetic end it was for the monster he had been.

Professor Lovejoy finally broke the silence. "What do we do now?" she asked. Snape looked at her.

"What would you like to do?" he asked curiously.

"Well--wouldn't it be nice to go back to Hogwarts and just--I don't know--be comfortable, for once?" she said. "Just think, Severus--no more Voldemort hanging over our heads. What does it mean for us? I can hardly take it in."

"It means," he said firmly, "that that question I asked you a while back is no longer hypothetical, but something we can finally allow ourselves to think about." He watched in amusement as she blushed. "I see you recall the conversation. If I were to ask you again, I wonder--would you still give the same answer?"

Professor Lovejoy squeezed his hand. "You know I would," she whispered.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lucius overheard them and watched bleakly as they exchanged loving looks. He supposed he ought to be glad that Voldemort was gone forever; lately his orders had been more of a burden than ever, and, of course, there was the whole tragic affair of Narcissa-- He stopped there, afraid he was about to wallow in self-pity in front of everyone.

Even the Death Eaters would soon be beyond threatening anyone. It was likely Fudge would sentence them to the same fate their elders had suffered--the Dementor's Kiss. Really, it seemed like most of Lucius' problems were over.

So why did he feel so empty? He no longer wished to wreak havoc on the world; in the absence of the need to do Voldemort's bidding, he would be left with a lot of time on his hands. What was he suppose to do with it? And--this was the worst part, which he couldn't avoid thinking about after all--who was there for him to do it with? Narcissa was gone. Forever. Even vanquishing the Dark Lord couldn't bring her back. Lucius sighed.

Someone walked up beside him. He looked over--not down, he realized--to see Draco standing there. "What is it, Father?" Draco asked.

Lucius took a good look at this boy, his son. He looked so much like Narcissa--her bright eyes, the noble forehead--and no one could ever mistake that determined chin. Maybe she wasn't completely gone after all. He cleared his throat.

"Ah--just thinking," he said nonchalantly. He gestured at the groups of Death Eaters being levitated out of the hall by Aurors and Order members. "Be rather quiet after this, eh? Just the two of us rattling around in this old pile. And after next year you'll probably go off to university." He thought without enjoyment of all the long, lonely years ahead.

"I--I miss her, too," Draco said, correctly guessing the source of Lucius' melancholy. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "I keep thinking she'll walk into the room, or--or send an owl with a letter telling me off for not doing better on my examinations." He looked at Lucius and inquired, "What do you think you'll do now that--you know--now that the Dark Lord is..."

"Gone?" Lucius finished. "I really couldn't say, Draco. It's not something I ever thought would happen, so I've never given it much thought."

"Mother used to say she'd like to travel more," Draco said. "Is that something you'd want to do?"

Lucius considered. "Well, I suppose it could be interesting. I don't know, it's going to take some getting used to. I could never be that far away or get very involved in anything because I never knew when the Dark Lord would require something of me. I had to be ready to drop everything at a moment's notice to go on some errand or other for him." He gave a brief smile. "Do you know, Draco, I believe this is the first time since--well, really since I left Hogwarts, I suppose--that I've been able to call my time my own? Amazing, that. I don't know what to do with myself."

"Well--you still work for the Ministry, don't you?" Draco asked tentatively.

Lucius grimaced. "I don't think so, Draco. I'm not sure the Minister will even allow me into the place after this." He looked around for Fudge, but the Minister had left with a group of Aurors and and had returned to the sanctuary of his office. "It's fairly obvious to everyone here--if any of them had ever really been in doubt--that I'm a Death Eater. I don't know why I'm not being taken to Azkaban with the rest of them, if it comes to that. My position at the Ministry had a very vague title and duties that were even more vague--mostly I was only there to spy on Ministry activities for the Dark Lord. But I suppose you already knew that?"

"I never really knew what your job was," Draco replied. "But if you don't have a job to return to, and you don't have to report to the Dark Lord any longer--isn't that a good thing? Overall, I mean? You can do whatever you want now, with no one you have to report to."

Lucius nodded. "You're right. I suppose I'll have to give some thought to what that might be. Perhaps this summer you can help me come up with some ideas."

"Of course, Father--I'd like that," Draco said. This was the longest conversation he'd ever had with Lucius, and he was looking forward to the novelty of actually spending time with his father over the summer.

"But for now," Lucius continued as Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall approached, "it's back to school for you, for a little while longer."

"Yes indeed," Dumbledore said amiably. "End-of-term examinations--a joy not to be missed, wouldn't you say, Lucius?"

"Definitely not to be missed," Lucius agreed. He seemed a little surprised that Dumbledore was not only speaking to him but seemed every bit as cordial as he would be to any Hogwarts parent.

"We'll be returning to Hogwarts in a few minutes," Professor McGonagall said. "Please see that you and Mr Potter are ready to leave, Mr Malfoy."

"Yes, Professor," Draco said. He turned to Lucius. "I'll see you soon, then, Father?"

"I'll meet you at the station," Lucius promised. He rather gingerly patted Draco on the shoulder, not being given to displays of affection--after all, he couldn't be expected to change that much, that quickly--and watched as his son jogged over to join Harry. The two high-fived each other, eliciting an exchange of rolling eyes between Dumbledore, Lucius, and Professor McGonagall, none of whom had ever understood this odd Muggle expression of jubilation.

"Well! I'll just go round everyone up for the trip back to school, shall I?" Professor McGonagall said briskly.

"I'll be there directly, Minerva," Dumbledore assured her. She bustled off to collect the others, leaving Dumbledore alone with Lucius.

Lucius waited, his outward calm hiding a jumble of nerves. He wondered what Dumbledore could possibly say under the circumstances. He soon found out.

"Well, Lucius," Dumbledore said, folding his hands in front of him. "It appears there will be some rather major changes in your life now." He waited, but Lucius made no reply beyond a curt nod.

"The Minister has asked me to approach you about a new position at the Ministry that he thinks may interest you," Dumbledore continued. "It is of a strictly temporary nature, you understand--although, even so, the project might engage someone in this position for years to come."

He glanced at Lucius, who inclined his head a little and said stiffly, "Please continue."

"Fudge feels it would be a very good thing for the Ministry to make contact with the various factions that Voldemort has been trying to recruit for his war, to let them know of the--er--altered circumstances, let us say. He feels you would be ideal for the job, with your intimate knowledge of Voldemort's activities and plans over the last several years. In short, Lucius--Fudge is willing to overlook your...well, your treachery, not to put too fine a point on it, if you will undertake this task."

Lucius shot a startled look at Dumbledore, whose expression was unusually serious. "You are serious?" he said incredulously. "The Ministry would just--forgive and forget?"

"If you will agree to fulfill this task, then yes," Dumbledore replied. "Make no mistake, Lucius, you won't have an easy time of it. The Giants, Goblins, and Werewolves especially are anticipating war with great enjoyment. They will likely be rather inclined to--er--kill the messenger, as it were. You will be expected to work diligently at establishing relations between the various Dark factions and the Ministry. It could quite easily mean a lifetime of work."

Lucius looked him squarely in the eye. "Do you think I can do it?" he asked bluntly.

"Quite frankly, Lucius, I think you may be the only person who can," Dumbledore replied. "I shall watch your progress with great interest. I say, Lucius--are you quite all right?"

This last was said with concern, as Lucius had suddenly closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Dumbledore put a hand on Lucius' shoulder and waited. At last Lucius raised his head. His eyes were suspiciously bright as he looked at Dumbledore, and his usual haughty expression was gone.

"I--I don't know what to say," he whispered. "You humble me. I know this is more--much more than I deserve."

"Lucius," Dumbledore said, "I firmly believe in second chances--and that everyone deserves one. This is yours. Make the best of it." He smiled reminiscently. "You know, I remember when you first came to Hogwarts," he said. "I saw at once that you were clever, and you learned quickly. You were always so eager to learn more, to advance to the next step. I had such great expectations for you." Lucius flushed and lowered his eyes.

"No," Dumbledore said gently, "you misunderstand me, Lucius. I _still_ have expectations for you. Now that Voldemort is no longer a factor in your life--and what a very great distraction he must have been--" Lucius chuckled at this understatement-- "I have faith that you will succeed beyond my greatest expectations."

Dumbledore looked around. "Ah--it seems everyone is ready to go. I'd best not hold up the proceedings any longer. Goodbye, Lucius." He turned to join the others, then looked back. "Oh, before I forget--I believe Fudge is expecting you to report to his office tomorrow morning for your instructions." He grinned broadly. "Should you choose to accept the position, of course."

Lucius gave an answering smile that was more genuine than any he had worn for years. "Of course, Dumbledore. I--thank you very much. For giving me this opportunity, and for your faith in me. I hope you won't find it to be misplaced."

"Good heavens, Lucius," Dumbledore snorted, "of course I won't. I pride myself on being a fair judge of character. You'll be fine. Don't forget to send me an owl now and then, let me know how it goes."

Dumbledore, the other professors, and Harry and Draco (the latter having decided it would be prudent, considering the teachers' presence, to merely do Side-Along Apparation this time) left the Manor and gathered on the lawn in preparation to Apparate back to Hogwarts.

"Goodbye for now, Father," Draco murmured. He looked happier than Harry had ever seen him.

All in all, it was a contented group that Apparated on the roadside next to the Hogwarts gates in the cool light of a new day--new in more than one sense. There was more thoughtful silence than conversation among them as they headed across the expanse of dew-soaked lawn in search of breakfast.


	23. All Good Things Must Come to an End

**Note:** Thank you very much to _**InkandPaper**_ for the idea about the Muggle PM wanting to try the Floo Network!

* * *

CHAPTER 23

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Harry performed a quick wash-up and went quietly to the dormitory to change his clothes. An assortment of snores and heavy breathing issued from the other boys' beds. Harry tiptoed over and pulled the edge of Ron's bed hangings aside. Ron lay sprawled on his stomach diagonally across his bed, his legs hanging halfway off the edge. His pillow was nowhere to be seen, and the bedding was cascading onto the floor.

Harry spied a sock lying on the foot of the bed. He picked it up, pinching it between the tips of his thumb and forefinger and holding it as far away from him as his arm could reach--Ron's smelly feet being legendary--and slowly and gently draped the sock over Ron's nose. Then he waited.

For a few moments Ron didn't stir. Then he began to mumble in his sleep. He moaned loudly and abruptly flipped over and sat up, coughing and choking. When he had recovered, he saw Harry standing there laughing, and he gave an annoyed groan.

"Ha ha, very funny," he grumbled, and flopped backward onto the bed. "It's a weekend, Harry--what time is it, anyway?" He squinted out the window. "Looks awfully early to me. Why are you up so early--and more importantly, why are you waking _me_ up so early? Go away and let me sleep, Harry." He dug into the mattress and grabbed the edge of his quilt--then, deciding it was too much trouble, subsided and lay still. He began to snore again almost immediately.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, get up!" He pulled the bed hangings all the way open so that the morning sun, just coming over the hills, shone full in Ron's face.

"Gah! All right, all _right_! I'm up," Ron said in disgust. "No need to resort to torture."

"Hurry up and get dressed," Harry urged. "I've got something to tell you. I'm going to go get Hermione up--meet me in the Common Room. And, Ron?" Ron turned bleary eyes in Harry's direction and gave a huge yawn. "Do _not_ go to sleep again. You'll want to hear this. It's big news--the biggest!" He dashed out of the dormitory to see about waking Hermione.

Behind him, the other boys were beginning to awaken, roused by all the early-morning ruckus.

"What did he say?" A sleepy Neville poked his head out of his bed hangings. "What's happened?"

"I dunno," Ron said with another great yawn. "Big news, he said. Suppose I ought to go see what's going on." He cast about aimlessly amongst the bedclothes for a shirt that was reasonably clean and trousers without holes in them and began to get dressed.

Meanwhile, Harry flew down to the Common Room and across to the girls' dormitory. He and Ron had learned the hard way that boys were magically prohibited from entering the inner sanctum, so he merely stood at the foot of the stairs and resorted to the simple expedient of shouting.

"Hermione! Oi, wake up, Hermione! Come down here, will you?" There was a chorus of indignant cries from both the boys' and girls' dormitories at this rude awakening. Harry waited impatiently, and a minute or two later a tousled Hermione appeared in the gallery above.

"Harry?" she said sleepily. "What is it--is something wrong?" She rubbed at her eyes and looked at him more closely. "Look at you--you're grinning from ear to ear. What have you been up to?" She peered round the Common Room. "Where's Ron--is he in on this with you?"

"He 's getting dressed. Hermione, please--I've got something _huge_ to tell you, but I want you both here. Get dressed and come down--please? And hurry!"

Hermione flapped a hand at him. "Oh, all right. I'll be down in a minute. But no more yelling, Harry. Honestly!" She shook her head and disappeared again. Harry could hear her muttered scolding recede into the depths of the dormitory along with the slap-slap of her bedroom slippers.

He walked idly around the Common Room, picking things up and putting them down again, wishing Ron and Hermione would hurry up. Before long they joined him, neither looking especially enthusiastic about the early wake-up call.

"Okay, we're here," Ron said. He flung himself into an armchair. "What's so bloody important?"

"Well," Harry began, "it all started last night--wow, I can't believe it was just last night--when Snape sent me a message using Legilimency."

"What?" Hermione interrupted, rather more alert now her interest had been piqued. "Why on earth would Snape be sending you any kind of message at all?"

"Well, as it turned out," Harry said, and proceeded to tell his story, leaving nothing out. When he got to the part about Draco volunteering to help get the others into Malfoy Manor, Ron snorted.

"Yeah, right," he sneered. "And of course you're just supposed to trust him. I hope you told him off, Harry." He looked indignant. Harry couldn't--quite--meet Ron's eyes. "Oh, Harry. Tell me you did," Ron persisted, sounding suspicious. Even Hermione was looking at him rather strangely.

"Well--sort of--to start with. I mean, I tried," Harry said. "But, well, then he followed me out and caught up with me on the lawn--"

"Wait, wait, wait," Hermione broke in. "Caught up with you--just you? What about Dumbledore and the others? Oh, Harry, you _didn't_ go off on your own!"

"Well," Harry said defensively, "they were wasting so much time with all their planning. We could have been there talking all night--and Snape needed help."

"That's another thing," Ron said. "Since when have you and Snape become such pals? Why would he send a cry for help to you--and why were you in such a hurry to go haring off and rescue him?" His eyes grew wide as the implications became clear. "You did, didn't you?" he breathed. "You went off by yourself and rescued Snape! Another adventure and, what--you couldn't take the time to wake me up?" He sounded hurt.

"Wake _us_ up, you mean," Hermione said. "You could have, Harry. You know we would have helped--even to rescue Snape, if you really had to. I expect you were doing it for your aunt, weren't you?" she said, digging a well-placed elbow into Ron's ribs.

"Oof. Er--yeah, right. I forgot about that side of it," Ron said with a grimace. "Still, we would've been there for you, Harry, you know we would."

"I know," Harry said. "It's just that things happened so fast. There wasn't really time to come all the way back up to Gryffindor to fetch you. We were Apparating before I knew it."

"We?" Ron asked jealously. "You--and Malfoy?" His voice rose on a squeak of indignation. Hermione said nothing, just sat down suddenly on a sofa. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out.

Harry quickly proceeded to tell them the rest of the story, not wishing to dwell over-long on the cooperative nature of his and Draco's--not to mention Lucius' and Snape's--activities the previous night. As he had hoped, the enormity of his ultimate news overshadowed even the intriguing point about Draco's change of loyalties.

Ron's and Hermione's reactions to the news of Voldemort's end were everything Harry could have hoped for. Hermione gave an excited squeal and bounced on the sofa, then clapped her hand over her mouth and gazed at Harry over it.

Ron's face paled and then turned bright red with suppressed emotion. "Dead?" he said wonderingly. "Voldemort is dead?" He stared blankly at Harry for a moment. "Just like that," he said softly. "It's all over--just like that."

He stood and walked over to Harry. "So you really were the one," he said. "Harry--_you've killed Voldemort_. Do you have _any_ idea what this means?" He grabbed Harry and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. Then he let out a whoop and whirled about in dizzy circles. He zoomed over to pluck Hermione out of her seat and waltzed her around the Common Room. She indulged him for a moment, then steered them to a halt in front of Harry.

"But what about Malfoy?" she asked.

"What about him?" Ron snorted.

Hermione looked at Harry. "Well--does this mean he's one of us now, do you think?" she asked hesitantly.

Ron, who, lacking a partner, had returned to dancing joyously round the room by himself, stopped abruptly. "You have _got_ to be kidding, Hermione," he said scornfully. "Malfoy will never be one of us." He looked at Harry for confirmation of this obvious fact.

Harry returned his look steadily but said nothing. Ron, realizing that he was about to hear unwelcome news, sank into a chair.

"I don't know what Malfoy is," Harry said slowly. "But I do think the line between 'them' and 'us' may be a bit fuzzy just now. I also know Malfoy is the reason we got into Malfoy Manor at all. And that he was standing right next to me when the four of us spoke the Killing Curse. His voice was as loud as anyone's. You can't get around the facts, Ron: Malfoy did every bit as much to destroy Voldemort as I did."

"Yes, he did," Hermione echoed. "And so did Lucius Malfoy--and Snape. I can't believe it, Harry! It's fantastic. It seems too good to be true."

"Interesting that Lucius Malfoy's not in Azkaban with the other Death Eaters, eh?" Ron said casually. "Wonder how he managed that?"

"I don't know, exactly," Harry admitted. "It couldn't have hurt that he was trying to rescue Snape and then he helped to destroy Voldemort...and he's always been good at wiggling out of tight places with the Ministry."

"You know, Harry," said Hermione, "I'm really very proud of you."

"Why's that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Well, when Snape sent you that message using Legilimency, you could have ignored it. Or let Dumbledore and the others deal with it. But you didn't. You did something about it yourself, because you love your aunt. Dumbledore was right about you, Harry, and so was the prophecy--you do have a power the Dark Lord didn't know."

Harry blushed. "But I haven't," he protested. When Hermione just looked superior, he shrugged. "Okay, then, what is it? What power could I possibly have that Voldemort didn't possess a hundred times stronger than me?"

"Love, Harry. You possess more love and caring in your little finger than Voldemort ever knew in his life. And not only do you show love, but you inspire it in others." When Harry looked puzzled, she explained.

"Well, of course I don't mean hearts-and-flowers love, you nit. But you draw people to you--you have, ever since you came here. McGonagall, Dumbledore, Hagrid, us--" She indicated Ron and herself. "Harry, there are dozens of people who would do anything for you, don't you know that?"

"I reckon she's right about that, mate," Ron said.

"Of course I am," Hermione said with her usual infuriating smugness. "And not only that. Even Snape is coming round, it seems."

"How do you get that?" Ron asked doubtfully.

"Like Harry says, he could have sent that message to anyone--Dumbledore or Professor Lovejoy, or any of the professors. But he chose Harry." She turned to Harry. "It seems to me he put an awful lot of trust in you, Harry. And you've more than repaid it. That ought to help your relationship with him, don't you think?" she said, looking pleased.

"Oh, no," Ron said in an aside to Harry. "Watch out--she's getting all happy-ever-after on us."

Hermione tossed her head. "Rubbish. I think it's marvelous! After all, don't forget we have another year to go here at Hogwarts--and it'll be ever so much better if Snape, Harry, and Malfoy aren't at each other's throats all the time. Not to mention...Harry, do you think your aunt and Snape will get married?" she asked curiously.

Harry gulped. "I--I dunno. I suppose...someday."

Hermione's eyes shown. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if they had a wedding here at Hogwarts? So romantic," she enthused.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, man--wedding talk. Why do girls find all that stuff so exciting?"

"There's a very good reason why we like discussing weddings, Ronald," Hermione retorted. When he slid his eyes toward her, she smiled sweetly and said, "It's good practice, of course!" He closed his eyes and swallowed audibly.

"I am so dead," he moaned.

"Yeah," Harry agreed cheerfully. "But you know what they say. Ron glanced at him dolefully and Harry laughed. "Better you than me." He gave Ron's foot a little kick. "Come on, pry yourself out of there and let's go get breakfast. I'm starved!"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hermione was not the only person at Hogwarts with weddings on her mind.

Monday morning Professor Lovejoy arrived at breakfast and made her way through the minor chaos of the morning meal to the staff table. Snape had already arrived. As she approached, he stood gallantly and waited for her, then gracefully held her chair for her as she sat. She thanked him, beaming, and he sat down next to her.

Leaning toward her, he said softly, "You look good enough to eat this morning." She blushed and dropped her napkin in confusion. When she bent to retrieve it, she left a lingering kiss on his hand, resting on his knee. She resurfaced, napkin safely in hand once again, and gave him a melting smile. Snape sat in pleasurable agony and waited for his heart to start beating again.

Professor McGonagall watched these antics with a barely concealed grin. She turned to Dumbledore and whispered, "Albus, I rather think we ought to get these two married off--and the sooner, the better."

He leaned discreetly around her and peered at the outrageous flirting going on a few feet away. "Indeed," he murmured, the twinkle back in his eyes. "I believe Trillium and Severus plan to be married from her father's home just as soon as the term is over." He sighed. "Call me a sentimental old fool, but I do love a wedding."

Professor McGonagall smiled happily. "Oh, so do I. I've always felt there was nothing nicer than a summer wedding." She picked up her teacup and sipped, envisioning the event to come. "Trillium will make _such_ a lovely bride. It's almost enough to make me wish I were young again!" Smiling sheepishly, she shook her head at her own foolishness.

Dumbledore regarded her curiously. "Do you, Minerva?" At her inquiring look, he added, "Wish you were young again, I mean?"

Professor McGonagall, somewhat unprepared for the seriousness of his tone, gave a hesitant laugh. "Well--I--of course not, Albus. Not really. It's just foolishness--the sentimental wanderings of an old maid, I suppose. Don't regard it--truly." She moved as if to pat his hand reassuringly, but he suddenly captured her hand within his own. Startled, she looked at their joined hands, then at him.

"It's not foolish to want love, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "It's one of our most basic human needs. And whether you know it or not, you are most fortunate in that regard. You, my dear, are very well loved indeed. Never think otherwise." He smiled and gave her hand a little squeeze, then released it and stood up to make his announcements.

Professor McGonagall sat in bemused bewilderment. Now what, she wondered, had he meant by that, exactly? Surely--she tried to recall what his precise words had been--surely he hadn't meant--? Oh, blast the man, she thought with fond exasperation. After receiving a tiny number of hints like that over the last thirty years, was it any wonder she felt like smacking him sometimes?

Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. "Good morning, everyone," he began. "As you know, examinations will take place today for the first- through fourth- and sixth-year classes. The examinations will, as usual, take place in your regular classrooms." He paused. An undercurrent of excitement seemed to ripple just beneath the students' polite façade. Dumbledore smiled.

"If I could have your--full--attention, please?" He waited until every slightest murmur had faded into silence. "It appears that most of you have by now heard the exciting news." The buzz of conversation began again. "For those of you who have not heard, allow me to say that Lord Voldemort is...no more." His voice rang out solemnly. He couldn't say another word; the response was instantaneous. Cheers and applause broke out from every side--even from some of the Slytherins, Malfoy among them.

Dumbledore touched his wand briefly to his throat and said, "_Sonorus_." Immediately his voice was amplified so he could be heard above the din. "It's nearly time for your exams to begin," he said. "You will no doubt discuss the news amongst yourselves, but please--for now it is time to finish out the term. Good luck on your exams, everyone." He pointed his wand at his throat again and said quietly, "_Quietus_."

He watched the students leave the Great Hall and sighed. Voldemort gone--professors marrying--Harry nearly done with school. Where did the time go? In a few days yet another year would have flown. He felt somehow let down, and smiled to himself as he thought of Professor McGonagall complaining of feeling old. Heavens--if she was old, what did that make him?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It is the nature of miracles to come without fanfare, when we least expect them.

That night, as Snape was brushing his teeth before bed, he happened to glance down to where his left hand rested on the edge of the sink. What he saw made his jaw fall open in shock, toothpaste dropping inelegantly from his mouth in frothy white blobs. He couldn't believe his eyes.

The Dark Mark was gone from his wrist, as if it had never existed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

During the day or two following school examinations, several parties of a celebratory nature took place in the various common rooms throughout Hogwarts. A vague hint of impending goodbyes lingered in the air.

The Gryffindors' combination Successful-Exam-Passing-and-Leaving-Party thrown by Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan was particularly animated and loud. It seemed likely that all seventy members of Gryffindor house were present.

Hermione eyed the merrymakers a bit wearily. She wished it wasn't so close to the end of the school year; opportunities to talk to Ron had been few and far between lately, what with their different class schedules, Quidditch practice, and the fact that when they did have periods of spare time that coincided, Ron seemed to deliberately avoid spending any of it alone with her.

She sighed. She really did love him, but more and more lately she had wondered if it was as one-sided as it felt. In typical Hermione fashion, she worried at the subject in her mind until she was exhausted and out of sorts. It was in this frame of mind that she looked in on the end-of-term party, standing in a relatively quiet spot near the portrait hole. She scanned the crowd until she spied Ron across the room talking with Ginny and Neville.

"Penny for them," a familiar voice said close to her ear. Harry stood there, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a Chocolate Frog in the other. Hermione smiled wanly.

"Oh--hello, Harry. Great party, isn't it?" she said with forced enthusiasm.

Harry followed the direction of her gaze. Ah...Ron. Of course. Harry wished there was something he could do to help them get their friendship--not to mention their romance--running smoothly again. Things had been going so well for a while there. Harry wasn't by any means ready to think about anything as irrevocable as marriage for himself yet, but he had really thought his friends had what it took to build a lasting partnership, even if they were rather young. But now--well, maybe he'd been wrong.

Glancing back at Hermione, Harry noticed how wistful she seemed. This was silly, he thought--she and Ron torturing themselves over a broken romance that both of them seemed to want to repair. Because Ron, too, had done his share of moaning into Harry's ear over the past few weeks--saying how much he missed the old closeness he and Hermione had shared, how much he missed twitting her about her bossy manner, how much he just plain missed having her involve herself in his life every day. He was convinced that he had given her a permanent disgust of him, with his love of practical jokes and inability to take life seriously, but he was at a loss to know what to do about it.

"You could try talking to her," Harry had suggested dryly. And repeatedly. But Ron seemed to believe that as long as there was no private one-on-one time between him and Hermione, she wouldn't--couldn't--actually end their engagement.

"Ron, don't be an ass. How do you expect to stay engaged to her if you can't even talk to her?" Harry argued. But Ron stubbornly held his ground. His refusal to be drawn into private conversation with Hermione did not, however, stop him following her everywhere--listening to her conversations from a few seats along the table at meals or around a corner in the Library, watching her longingly from the dormitory windows as she sat by the lakeside with her friends, and so on. Harry was moved to comment sarcastically that Ron paid more attention to Hermione now that they weren't speaking than he ever had before. The word "stalker" might have been mentioned. But Ron ignored him and continued to act the part of Hermione's shadow.

Now Harry watched as Hermione seemed about to repeat Ron's shadowing performance, in reverse. He shook his head. A person could only be expected to take so much of this.

"Do you want to talk to him" he asked quietly. Startled, Hermione jerked round to see Harry watching her patiently. She sighed, but, being made of sterner stuff than Ron, nodded.

"Actually, I've been wanting to talk to him for some time now," she admitted. "But it's rather strange--he always seems to be around until I'm alone and we could be private, then he disappears off the face of the earth! I do want to talk to him, very much. But--I'm rather tired of chasing him, if you want to know the truth. If he's trying that hard to avoid me, maybe this whole thing just isn't worth it."

"Don't say that," Harry said, alarmed. "Don't even think it. You wait right here. Don't move. I'll be right back." He ducked off into the crowd and resurfaced near Ron.

"Psst! Ron!" he hissed. Ron looked up.

"Oh, there you are, Harry. Come over here--Neville, tell that joke again. You're going to love this, Harry--it's about a witch, a Centaur, and a House Elf, see, and--"

"Ron!" Harry broke in. "Look, sorry, you lot, but I need to borrow Ron for a minute, all right?" He grabbed Ron's arm. "Come on. I've got something to show you."

"Yeah, all right," Ron mumbled as he got to his feet. He followed closely behind Harry, trailing bits of popcorn from a handful that he was munching as he went. "What's so important, anyway?"

Harry swung round and grasped Ron by the shoulders. "Your future, mate," he said earnestly. "Your future happiness." He turned away slightly and beckoned to someone. Hermione stepped forward, a hesitant smile on her face.

Ron's heart thudded madly. This was the first time he'd seen her up close in days. She looked tired, he noticed. As if she hadn't been sleeping well. Nonetheless, he drank in the sight of her.

"Hermione," he croaked.

"Hello, Ron," she said. Strangely, she felt almost shy in front of him. "Nice party, isn't it?" She gave an awkward laugh.

Ron said, "Yeah. Nice." Her hair was such a nice color of brown, he was thinking. Almost the color of butterbeer. No--

"Caramel," he said decidedly. Hermione looked puzzled.

"Er--sorry?"

"Your hair--it's the color of caramel," he muttered. He turned bright red. "Sorry. Stupid thing to say."

"Actually, it was quite a lovely compliment," Hermione said. They smiled at each other, silly grins spreading across their faces.

Harry tsk'd. "Go on, you idiots," he said affectionately. "Maybe you could talk a little. Or something." Hermione and Ron seemed unable to look away from each other, he noted with satisfaction. Maybe it would be all right after all.

"I--I've missed you, Ron," Hermione offered, generously being the first to step out onto the limb. Those few words uncorked several weeks' worth of pent-up feelings in Ron.

"Oh, Merlin's beard, Hermione--I wasn't sure you'd ever want to speak to me again," he said, greatly relieved. "Life's not the same without you."

"Do you know, I've been thinking just that," she exclaimed. "You know, Ron, you really do some things that make me wonder about your sanity sometimes--but without you, life is so dull I can hardly bear it."

"Yeah," he agreed. "And without you bossing me around all day long, it's like--I dunno--like there's this big empty hole in my day. Because you're not there." He took her hand in his.

"Look here, Hermione. I know I'm not the serious type--I doubt I ever will be. But you know I care about you--you do know that, right?--and I do try to be a good person. Really, I do. I'll try to take life more seriously if you want me to. Just--please don't give up on me, Hermione. Nothing feels right when you're not around. I can't concentrate on anything. It's not even much fun cracking jokes if you're not there to roll your eyes at me." He jolted to a stop. "Aw, Hermione, I love you and that's the plain truth of it."

Hermione's eyes shone more brightly with every word.

"Ron, listen to me," she said when he finally ran out of words. "You're not to change one thing about yourself, do you hear? Not one thing," she said fiercely. "Do you know, after you stopped being around all the time, I realized something. Without you, there hardly ever seems to be anything worth laughing at."

"Wh--what?" Ron stuttered. Was she making fun of him?

"I put that badly," Hermione said hastily, seeing his hurt expression. "What I mean is that you have a gift for seeing the humor in everything. Even when I can't possibly see anything to laugh about, you can still make me laugh. I really love that about you. You make me happy."

Harry pursed his lips in a silent whistle and quietly backed away. Someone threw one of Bertie Bott's finest across the room, and as he ducked he thought how amazing it was that something so momentous was going on right there in plain sight and no one had noticed. He glanced back at Ron and Hermione to see them standing with their heads close together, not saying much except with their eyes, and suddenly he felt like the year was ending on the right note after all.

Completely apart from the end of Voldemort's reign of terror which, oddly, he had not thought of much since that night at Malfoy Manor.

In a way, it all seemed like the ending to a story--evil villain destroyed, young lovers reconciled, people saved in spite of themselves. It would almost seem trite, he supposed, if one read it in a book. But if a person had been in the midst of it all as it was happening, as he had--why, that made all the difference.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Muggle Prime Minister had another late night ahead of him. He wasn't any too happy about it, either. Such a beautiful day as it had been; he'd hoped to leave a bit early, in fact, and go home to try out the new gas grill his wife had given him for his birthday. He envisioned it sitting on their garden terrace in all its stainless steel glory, exterior gleaming smartly, wood-handled grilling tools hanging from a rail along the side--thick, juicy steaks marinated to perfection and ready to toss onto the sizzling hot rack.

But no. He sighed. Instead he was stuck here going over figures from the Department of Health. Blasted idiots had to have got something wrong...the figures were far too low, surely. He heaved another, even weightier sigh of annoyance. Well, the old saying certainly was true--if you wanted something done properly, you had to see to it yourself. He got out his calculator and slapped it resentfully onto his desktop, rolling up his sleeves in preparation for the tedious job of checking figures.

"Ahem!"

He froze. Oh, God, no. Not tonight, he thought.

"Er--if I might have a word, Minister?"

The Prime Minister cringed. Not that blasted portrait again. He turned his head the slightest bit until he could, at the very edge of his vision, see the elderly wizard waving energetically to draw his attention. He cursed under his breath.

"What?" he ground out. It must be admitted that his tone was rather surly.

"So sorry, but the Minister of Magic would like a moment of your time, if it's not inconvenient?"

The Prime Minister aimed his best glare at the portrait. "Does he actually know the _meaning_ of the word inconvenient, do you suppose?" he snarled.

"Ah--well, really, sir--" the wizard sputtered, wishing, not for the first time, that he'd never agreed to his portrait being placed in this office. Would it really have been so bad to be stuck quietly away in a museum somewhere? Had he really asked for this kind of abuse? After all, he was only doing his job. He drew himself up, all injured dignity.

"I'm afraid I really could not say, sir," he said frostily. "Will you see him, sir? He is standing by for your answer. Sir," he added with excruciating civility.

The Prime Minister only just managed to stop another sigh from escaping. "Oh, go on," he said ungraciously. "Might as well, what?" He tossed his pencil onto the desk. Clearly no work would be getting done until he got this over with.

The wizard bowed stiffly and edged out of the frame. This time he did not return to announce the Minister of Magic--probably off sulking somewhere, the Prime Minister thought. He watched the fireplace and waited expectantly.

In a moment the same green flames as before sprang up in the fireplace, followed almost immediately by the Minister of Magic emerging with a little _pop_! onto the hearth. The Prime Minster viewed Fudge's idea of sartorial splendor--purple robes and lime green bowler--and shuddered.

"My dear Minister, good evening," Fudge said unctuously. He stumbled a bit after energetically brushing ash from his robes. The Prime Minister was almost tempted to think he was acting as if he'd been...drinking?

"What can I do for you?" the Prime Minister asked briskly, in an attempt to get things moving--and get Fudge moving out of the office and back to where he belonged.

"Not a thing, not a thing," Fudge said jovially. "No--it's more what I can do for you, sir. I Have some good news for you. Yes," he repeated, "very good news indeed. You see, I've come to tell you that You-Know-Who is dead. Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter any more--Lord Voldemort, I mean, the Dark Lord. He's gone. Dead. Destroyed! The most marvelous thing. I can hardly believe it, myself. But it's true. I was there. I saw his remains for myself. Just imagine--four of them performing the Killing Curse simultaneously! Oh, what I wouldn't have given to see it for myself. But there, at least we have the comfort of knowing that the danger is past. I thought you should know--give you some peace of mind, I daresay, what?"

The Prime Minister privately thought that what would really give him peace of mind would be to wake up and find that this whole nonsensical business of witches and wizards and demon warlords and magical worlds had all been nothing more than a spectacular nightmare. But he wasn't a practical man, and a politician, for nothing.

"Excellent," he said heartily. "Glad to hear it. Good work! Yes, indeed. But look here, I'm sure you'll want to be getting back now," he said, and he came round the front of his desk. He shook Fudge's hand, leading him back toward the fireplace as he spoke. "Congratulations all round, to be sure. A job well done!" he enthused, clapping Fudge on the back. Fudge was torn between feeling insulted at being given the bum's rush and delight at the Prime Minister's unusual display of good cheer and friendliness.

"Right, then!" he said, smoothing his robes with great dignity, a quality he was used to drag out when he wasn't certain how to react. "I'll just--er--be off, then."

"Certainly, yes, off you go!" nodded the Prime Minister. "Thank you _so_ much for coming to tell me yourself." He stopped himself just before uttering the words, "And do come again any time." Really, he had to watch his mouth around this fellow--before you knew it he'd be popping in for tea every second Tuesday, or some such nonsense.

Fudge drew out his small leather pouch of Floo Powder and took a pinch in his fingers. "I don't know when we'll meet again, sir," he said.

"Well," said the Prime Minister, "with any luck at all, we'll never need to, eh?" He smiled cheerfully at the thought and rocked back on his heels.

"Oh--er--right. Quite," murmured Fudge. He was beginning to feel positively disgruntled at this less than gracious treatment. "Good night, then." He flung the Floo Powder into the fireplace and snapped, "Ministry of Magic!" He stepped into the heatless green flames and whirled briefly, then disappeared.

For one brief moment the Prime Minister was seized by the crazy impulse to leap into the flames after Fudge and see what might happen. He stretched out one hand tentatively, but with a little poof the flames went out. He drew his hand back, half disappointed and half chagrined. He glanced surreptitiously at the wizard's portrait, but fortunately it was still empty.

The Prime Minister walked back to his desk. So--that Voldemort person was dead, was he? Best news he'd had all day. He looked for a moment at the papers and charts spread across his desk but thought, no. It's a lovely evening. I've worked hard enough today. The evil wizard is dead. I deserve to celebrate. "By Jove, I will!" he exclaimed aloud.

He rushed to his telephone, lifted the receiver, and punched a well-worn speed-dial button. "Hello, darling!" he said with a smile full of anticipation. "What do you say we try out that new grill tonight--steaks do you all right? That's right, nice thick ones. What's that?" He listened for a moment. "No, pet, I thought I'd be working late but as it turns out, I'm on my way home after all. Yes--right--me, too. See you in a jiffy!" He put down the receiver, leaped toward the door, and made a grab for his jacket hanging on the coat rack. In one swift motion he slammed the light switch down and drew the door shut. His jaunty footsteps echoed down the empty corridor toward the elevator.

In the dim office, the elderly wizard slid cautiously back into his frame, peering round for any sign of the Prime Minister. Satisfied that he was gone, the wizard sank into his armchair with little sounds of contentment and closed his eyes. Really, all this activity for a man his age was a lot to expect, it really was. He ought to see if Fudge wouldn't allow him to change places with one of the dozens of portraits stored peacefully away in the basement of the British Museum--just for the next hundred years or so, long enough to get in a really good nap. With a blissful sigh, he slept.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Hogsmeade station was chaotic, as usual on a leaving day. There was much running about, looking for friends, last-minute loading of luggage, and goodbyes to those faculty who had come to see the students off. Hagrid was kept busy running after the first-years and making certain they all got aboard safely.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were among the last to board. However, so many students were still in the passageway that Ron thought they might stand a decent chance at finding an empty compartment. They started down the corridor, weaving their way through hordes of students, and looking into each compartment they passed. After the first few it seemed their hopes might have been in vain, for all the compartments were stuffed full of students and luggage.

"How on earth can all the compartments be full with this many people still out in the passage?" Hermione wanted to know. The train jerked suddenly and started moving, picking up speed gradually until it was moving at a spanking pace and the crowd was swaying back and forth with its movement over the rails.

Suddenly Harry, in the lead, stopped abruptly, causing the others to pile up behind him. "Harry, keep going," Ron said impatiently. "I'm getting squashed between you guys."

Harry turned. "You two go on," he said. "I'll be along in a minute. Just want to talk to someone in here." He opened the door of the nearest compartment and slipped inside, shutting the door against the tide of humanity trying to make its way past.

Malfoy looked up. "What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry sat down opposite him. They were the only ones in the compartment. "Nothing--just to talk for a minute." He cocked his head at the empty seats. "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

Malfoy shrugged. "No idea. They seem to be avoiding me," he said. He looked at Harry. "You know, even though he's gone, some things will probably never change. Crabbe and Goyle, for example. Their fathers were both taken by the Ministry the night that--that--well, you know," he trailed off. He lifted his eyes to Harry's. "Most of Slytherin isn't talking to me any more, you know."

"Mm. That's rough," Harry said. "Will you be back next year?"

"Of course," Malfoy said. He lifted his chin. "It won't be all skittles and beer, but I'm sure I'll live through it." He stared out the window. "Will you be there?"

"Oh, sure," Harry said cheerfully. "It's going to be great, Malfoy. Just think--we'll finally be seventh-years."

Malfoy smiled faintly. "Right."

Harry studied him for a moment. He leaned forward earnestly. "Don't worry, Draco. It will be all right."

Malfoy lifted one arrogant blond eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." He returned his gaze to the passing scenery.

Harry felt a bit awkward. He felt as if Malfoy had thought him either patronizing or presumptuous, although he hadn't intended to be. What had happened to the rapport he thought the two of them had been building? He looked at Malfoy for a moment longer, then stood to go.

"Fine, then. See you around." He put his hand on the door handle and pushed. Glancing back, Harry caught Malfoy's smirk before he quickly turned away. "What's so funny?" he asked.

Malfoy laughed. "You. Worrying about everyone just like a mother hen." He held out a hand, and Harry slowly took it. "Have a good summer, Potter. Better rest up--you'll have your work cut out for you to beat me in Potions next year." He grinned.

Harry's heart lifted. "Ha!" he snorted. "That'll be the day." He slid the door open and glanced back at Malfoy with a smirk. "Didn't you know? I'm Snape's favorite!" He swung out of the compartment, Malfoy's laughter ringing in his ears.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When the train pulled into King's Cross at the end of the afternoon, it was still light. Harry and the others made their way from Platform 9-3/4 back to the Muggle part of the station, where their families were waiting.

"Don't forget," said Ron over Molly's shoulder as she hugged him tightly, "in August you're to come to us for the entire month."

"Right," Harry said. "And this time I can Apparate--cool!"

Hermione ran up and flung her arms around him. "Bye, Harry," she said, and squeezed him tight. "Until August!" She threw him a quick smile and went to join her parents, who stood waiting.

"Bye, Harry," said Ginny. She gave him a one-armed hug as she passed, and said, "I can't wait to see you again!" Her glance seemed to linger on him a little longer than absolutely necessary, and it made him wonder...but here came the Dursleys, and he forgot about Ginny for the moment.

Arthur Weasley was busily greeting Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, diving for their hands and shaking them jovially even as they tried to duck around him unnoticed. Harry smiled. Some things would never change. Just then, Uncle Vernon caught sight of him.

"Ah, Harry!" he said, sounding relieved. Well, that was a first, thought Harry.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," Harry said warily. They were smiling--awkwardly, but smiling nevertheless--which made him nervous.

"Er--welcome home, Harry," Aunt Petunia said in a trembling voice. She came up and reached for Harry's shoulders. He flinched before he could stop himself, instinctively expecting a slap. But she whispered in his ear, "Your Headmaster came to the house earlier and told us what's happened. I want to hear all about it when we get home, mind."

She drew back and, aware that the Weasleys were looking on with understandable incredulity, patted Harry's shoulder and said brightly, "Well! I expect we'd best get you home. You probably have scads of dirty laundry that needs doing. Boys, you know," she said in an aside to an astonished Molly Weasley. "Always getting so dirty!" She bustled around Harry and Uncle Vernon, moving them inexorably along toward the exit. Uncle Vernon picked up one end of Harry's trunk and motioned to Dudley, who had said nothing the whole time, to pick up the other--which, amazing, he did without comment. Harry brought up the rear, carrying Hedwig's cage and his broomstick.

They emerged from the station into the bright sunshine. Uncle Vernon hunted in his pockets for his car keys, and Aunt Petunia was hovering around him, not really helping. Harry looked back for a moment and saw Malfoy and his father exit the station. Lucius did not even try to fit in with the Muggle crowd but proudly wore his customary black wizard's robes. They had no luggage; Harry knew one of their House Elves had probably Apparated back to Malfoy Manor with it.

He caught Malfoy's eye and nodded, and Malfoy gave a small wave in return. Lucius looked up and gazed at Harry with his cool blue eyes for a moment, then said something to Malfoy and turned abruptly to go in the opposite direction from the Dursleys.

Harry grinned. As Malfoy had said, it wouldn't be all skittles and beer. But he was pretty sure it was going to be all right.


End file.
